


Not Just When You Want to Be

by gracerene



Series: Are You Mine? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Chance Meetings, Drunken Kissing, F/M, First Time, First Time Topping, Fuckbuddies, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Hand Jobs, Intergluteal Sex, Love Bites, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s), Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Rimming, Switching, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, accidental feelings, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracerene/pseuds/gracerene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little over a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together. Staying together is a different matter entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my [Are You Mine](http://archiveofourown.org/series/361394) verse and is a prequel to the James/Teddy fic, [What I'm Waiting to Find](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5123663/chapters/11787977). You can read these two fics in any order, and, in fact, both work perfectly fine as stand alone fics. Though I definitely recommend that you read both. :)
> 
> As should be obvious from the tags and the paragraph above, this fic is epilogue-compliant, and it takes place a few years after the war. This is not the last fic in the series, and there is an H/D sequel that takes place after the events in _What I'm Waiting to Find_ , just so you're aware going into things.
> 
> All the love in the world to capitu who has been just the best sounding board and cheerleader for this series. Her insights and comments and enthusiasm have been amazingly helpful. Hugs and thanks also to the lovely sassy-cissa who beta read this fic with impressive speed and had a lot of wonderful thoughts and extremely helpful suggestions.

_November 1998_

"I've purchased us some butterbeers," Astoria murmured as she slid into the booth.

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Butterbeer?" 

"Yes, butterbeer. Since I'm still technically underage, and you're too scared to go up and order from Rosmerta."

Draco sputtered and looked away. "I am not scared of Rosmerta. She accepted my apology and let me back in here, did she not?"

Astoria smiled indulgently. "Yes, but she didn't seem all that happy about it."

Draco returned her smile with a small, tight-lipped one of his one. "Yes, well, one can hardly blame her. They are called _Unforgivables_ for a reason."

Astoria took a delicate sip of her butterbeer, and Draco followed suite. There wasn't much one could say in response to that.

"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" Astoria murmured after a few silent moments. Draco felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Astoria had proven herself to be a remarkably intuitive young woman. He was lucky to have her as a friend.

"How are your classes?" he asked.

Astoria went off about a Transfigurations project she was working on, and Draco nodded along. He let her comforting chatter wash over him and was surprised to find himself feeling almost...content. 

The past few months had been difficult for Draco. After the horrifying trials, which Draco had escaped from relatively unscathed but for the grace of Merlin—or more accurately, Potter—Draco had been required to attend Hogwarts to make up his final year. Stuck in a castle recently destroyed by the madman his family had chosen to support was not exactly Draco's idea of a good time. Especially given that none of his fellow Slytherin friends decided to join him. 

So far, eighth year had turned out almost as depressing as expected. In fact, if it weren't for two shining spots in his life, Draco wasn't sure he would have been able to last the year. 

The first good thing was Quidditch. Thankfully, there were few enough eighth year students that they were allowed to participate on the regular house Quidditch teams. With the lack of upper year Slytherins, the captaincy had gone to Draco. Not that he hadn't earned it—he was a damned good flyer—but Draco was relatively sure they would not have awarded him the position if there had been even a single other marginally qualified candidate. There was not, and Draco had taken to the position like a giant squid to water, if he did say so himself. 

The Slytherin team had been undefeated thus far. Without Potter driving him to distraction and showing him up at every opportunity, Draco had managed to actually focus on the game and lead his team to victory. There had been some very attentive scouts at their last game, and Puddlemere United had mentioned an interest in Draco playing for their team. Draco was seriously considering it. His father would lose his marbles if he found out Draco was thinking of going into professional Quidditch, but Draco knew that it could do wonders for their family name. More than that, playing Quidditch was just about the only time Draco felt truly free, and after the war, Draco knew how precious that was. He was well aware of his familial obligations, but that didn't mean he had to be miserable, did it?

The second bright spot in Draco's life was Astoria. Despite being in the same year, Draco and Daphne Greengrass had never been close at Hogwarts, so he'd hardly had any reason to pay much attention to her younger sister. With a considerably smaller and more ostracised Slytherin house this year, there were fewer inter-house cliques, and new friendships and connections were forged. In Draco and Astoria's case, their friendship was forged when Astoria managed to walk right into Draco while coming out of the common room. She was one of the clumsiest people Draco had ever met, but she was brilliant. Astoria was smart and clever, with a sharp wit to match Draco's own, and a surprising openness that both astounded and charmed Draco. It took him awhile to see that she was not like that with everyone she met, and he felt warmed at the show of trust. Draco would never admit it, but with all of his friends out of reach, he had been rather lonely. He had lucked out with Astoria.

He had been worried, at first, that with all of their time spent together, she would start to get the wrong idea. Draco knew he would have to marry a woman some day, but he cared about Astoria far too much to do that to her. He would never be able to love her like she deserved. Luckily, Astoria was clever, and it did not take long for her to realise that Draco's tastes ran towards the masculine. She was the only one at Hogwarts who knew his secret, and the fact that it did not matter to her one bit made him almost wish he really could fall in love with her.

A raucous round of laughter from across the pub threw Astoria out of her story. They both turned to look. Gryffindors, of course. But not just any Gryffindors. Draco immediately recognised the sea of ginger and the embarrassingly familiar head of messy black hair.

"What is Potter doing here?"

"Probably visiting his friends. You know Granger came back to finish her last year."

"Right. And his girlfriend is still here as well, isn't she. Maybe he's here consoling her on last night's loss." Draco grinned. Slytherin's defeat of Gryffindor had been _most_ satisfying. The littlest Weasley could definitely fly, but she had quite the temper.

"Oh, they're not dating anymore," Astoria said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Really?" 

"Yes. I overheard her and Granger talking about it in the girl's lavatory. Apparently, they both decided to take a break for awhile. I guess she's been dating different blokes, trying to see if any of them light her fire better than Potter did."

Draco snorted. "Well they certainly seem quite cosy for an ex-couple." They were squeezed together tightly in a corner booth, exchanging sunny, too-wide smiles.

Astoria shrugged. "Gryffindors."

She picked up where her story left off, but Draco continued watching the group. Potter twirled his wand in his hand, and Draco's own hand instinctively went to his wand holster, his chest tightening. He had gotten a new wand after the war, but it had never felt quite the same as the one he had received when he was eleven. Draco supposed Potter still had it, somewhere. Part of Draco wanted to march over there and demand it back. Even he knew that was madness. 

Draco took a deep breath and counted to three, focusing on letting it all go. He was a different person than he was a year ago, and he did not have the time or energy to worry about old grudges. Potter and that rivalry were part of Draco's past. It was time for him to focus on the future.


	2. Chapter 1

_January 2000_

"Number 411," the familiarly cool, feminine voice of the Ministry called out to the large waiting room. 

Draco reflexively checked his slip of paper, despite the fact that he was already well aware that his number was 313. He had been aware of this fact for over an hour now, and he was beginning to think he would die with this number clutched in his withered hand. Draco might have felt less discouraged if he had been able to discern any rhyme or reason to the order that the numbers were called in. As far as he could tell, the workers were using a magical algorithm heretofore unknown to greater wizarding-kind. Draco sighed. He should have brought a book.

He decided to content himself, in the meantime, with people watching. His notoriety meant that the chairs in his immediate vicinity were thankfully empty, leaving him free to look around in relative peace. Draco was not sure if he was meant to feel slighted by the fact that the frumpy women several rows down and her three screaming children did not want to grace Draco with their presence, but Draco figured he would survive the snub.

"Number 289."

A figure plopped down on the chair right next to Draco, and Draco braced himself. There was no reason for somebody to sit there unless they were looking for a fight. He looked up and was startled to notice that the man was rummaging around in his bag, his entire upper body practically disappearing inside. Ahh, so not somebody looking for a fight then, simply somebody who could not be arsed to follow proper seating etiquette. What kind of prick sat right next to somebody when there were plenty of open seats available? Had he not heard of personal space?

He cleared his throat politely, hoping that the bloke would clear off once he got a look at who he was seated next to. A head of dark, messy hair extracted itself from the recesses of the bag, and turned to face Draco. Draco fought the urge to scream. Of course, _of course_ , it was bloody Potter.

"Malfoy?"

"Hello, Potter." Draco did his best to keep his tone civil.

"What are you doing here?"

"I would have thought that would be obvious."

Potter flushed in anger and maybe a bit of embarrassment. "I only meant that I was surprised to see you is all. I didn't expect to see anybody from our year getting their Apparition license so late."

"Nor did I. Though it was not exactly by choice on my part. I was on probation until the first of the year." 

Potter frowned. "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten."

"Lucky you." Potter's face darkened, and Draco continued on, hoping to cut off the no doubt scathing remark that Potter was about to make. Draco was well aware probation was the least he deserved, but it was still damned inconvenient. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you have received your Apparition license already?"

Potter hesitated, seeming torn between his instinctive anger and Draco's unexpected politeness. He glanced at Draco warily, before his lips twitched into a small, somewhat sheepish grin. Draco found himself fascinated by the change that came over Potter's face. "Yeah, I...I never liked Apparating much, you know? I can, of course, and I've done it when I need to, but I'd much rather use a broom. I sort of forgot about the whole licensing thing until Robards called me into his office yesterday. He wasn't pleased that he had an Auror trainee who'd been Apparating without a license. Something about setting a good example." He grinned at Draco before he seemed to realise just who he was talking to, leaving his expression somewhat perplexed.

"I see," Draco murmured, before looking away towards the shiny _Department of Magical Transportation_ sign hanging in the middle of the room. He felt a strange desire to keep talking to Potter, to find out about his life now. It had been odd, this past year and a half, not seeing Potter around every corner. To be fair, you couldn't throw a garden Gnome without hitting a _Daily Prophet_ with Potter's face plastered all over it, but that was a far cry from the man himself. Draco thought he might even sort of miss him, in his own strange way. 

Though maybe that was just the gratitude talking. That annoying kernel of gratefulness that Draco had not been able to squash since Potter had spoken for him at his trial after the war. As much as Draco hated to admit it, Potter had saved him, and far more times than Draco was comfortable with.

"I...I wanted to thank you," Draco finally said, haltingly. 

"For what?" Potter seemed genuinely bewildered. Draco thought that probably had more to do with the fact that Draco was thanking him for something at all; Potter had to be more than aware of everything Draco owed to him. 

"For testifying for me, and my family. At the trials. You didn't have to."

"Yes I did. It was the right thing to do."

"Yes, well, all the same. I appreciate it." 

Potter narrowed his eyes, studying him, before asking, "How's your mother doing?"

Draco's eyes widened at the question. "She's very well, thank you. She has been focusing on gardening. It gives her something to occupy her time."

Potter nodded thoughtfully, as if he actually cared about his mother's well being. Draco looked away. He was not sure if he could bring himself to reciprocate the small talk with questions about the Weasleys.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them. Potter fidgeted. "So...how long have you been here for?"

Draco smiled to himself, secretly grateful that Potter had broken the silence, and even _more_ grateful that he had not been the first to cave. He checked his watch. "Over an hour. Though I cannot seem to figure out how the numbering system actually works."

Potter rolled his eyes. "If it's anything like the rest of the Ministry, it'll be overly-complicated, take too damn long, and be massively inefficient."

Much to Draco's horror, he found himself letting out a snort of laughter at Potter's pronouncement. Potter looked at him askance, and Draco hurried to cover. "Quite the ringing endorsement for your future employer."

"Yeah, well, it's not all bad. And I want to do what I can to help change it."

"How very noble of you."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Malfoy. What are _you_ doing these days?"

"I'm the reserve Seeker for Puddlemere United."

"Blimey, really?"

"You hadn't heard?" It had been all over the papers when he had signed, angry witches and wizards calling for his immediate dismissal for his crimes during the war. Luckily, the manager of Puddlemere United was not a man easily swayed, and he was much more concerned with winning than with angering a few self-righteous wizards who likely did not even pay attention to Quidditch. He knew, as Draco did, that all it would take was a few winning games for the fans to be screaming Draco's name instead of screaming for his blood.

Potter scratched the back of his neck. "I had, yeah, but I wasn't sure if it was true. I didn't peg you as the professional Quidditch type."

Draco felt his hackles rise and took a few slow breaths. Potter was not exactly wrong. Malfoys were not the type to go chasing stardom or to stoop to physical occupations, as his father so often liked to remind him. Still, it rankled that Potter didn't think Draco had what it took. It wouldn't do, however, to get into an argument with Potter, at least not in such a public forum. If Draco was going to feel off-kilter though, he wanted Potter to be just as uncomfortable.

"I suppose not having you to compete with during eighth year gave the league an inflated impression of my skills." 

Potter's jaw dropped at the compliment, and Draco let a serene smile spread over his face. Unsettling Potter was just as satisfying as it had been in school, only now Draco realised he could do it without resorting to childish hair-pulling. Potter turned away, as if he couldn't bring himself to face Draco and deal with his niceness. Much better.

With Potter looking away, Draco had the the opportunity to finally look his fill at this slightly older Potter. He could see traces of his boyhood nemesis in the messy hair, atrocious glasses, and those sharp, green eyes. But now there was a maturity there, as if Potter had finally grown into his features. He was not classically handsome, but Draco couldn't deny that he was...appealing. Strong shoulders, full lips, a face made to smile, and hands that seemed more than capable. It was a shame Potter was sitting, as Draco has the sudden urge to see what his arse looked like in those Muggle jeans. More arresting than his looks though, was that familiar energy about him, a compelling, magnetic pulse of _something_ that had always seemed to draw people in. It was interesting. _Potter_ was interesting. Which, unfortunately, was not exactly news to Draco. 

Potter turned to face him again, his eyes curious. "I—"

"Number 313."

Potter broke off and looked down at his slip of paper. It took a moment for Draco's brain to catch up realise that it was _his_ number that had finally been called. 

"That would be me." He was strangely disappointed. Despite the fact that he had been waiting for well over an hour, he found himself wishing that he could stay a little longer in Potter's company. That he could hear what it was that Potter had been about to say.

"Oh, alright then." Was it just him, or did Potter sound a bit disappointed too?

Draco gave him a wry smile. "I'll see you around, Potter."

~~~~~

Draco walked slowly down the aisles of Flourish and Blotts, scouring the titles on the shelves. Astoria's birthday was coming up and Draco was after a suitable present. She had recently become quite enamored with architecture, after an illuminating trip to Italy. Draco thought a few books on the subject would make for an appropriate gift. Unfortunately, there wasn't actually an architecture section—it was included in the Leisure & Activities section, which did not appear to be organised by subject matter. Normally Draco would have gone up and asked the shopkeeper for assistance, but going from the look of pure disdain the older witch had given him when he had walked in, Draco rather thought he was probably better off on his own.

He was peering so intently at the titles, that he didn't realise he was no longer alone in his aisle until he had walked right into the other occupant. 

"Sorry about that," Draco murmured, raising his eyes to the gentleman he had almost plowed over. "Potter?"

Potter smiled faintly. "You did say you'd see me around."

"So I did." Though, when Draco had said it, he hadn't thought it would be so soon. He figured he would see him from a distance, walking through the Ministry or across Diagon Alley. Maybe they would exchange polite nods, or at best, a neutral hello. He certainly did not expect to walk right into him at Flourish and Blotts. Draco nodded at the small pile of herbology books in Potter's arms. "New hobby?" 

Potter smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Neville's offered to help me start up a garden."

"I wasn't aware you were so enamoured with botany."

"No, that's always been more Neville's thing, but…" He trailed off. Draco did his best to mask his interest, despite the fact that he was suddenly monstrously curious about Potter's new desire to grow things. Merlin, what was wrong with him? Leave it to Potter to make even plants seem interesting. "It's just something to do, you know? Thought it would help to have something to occupy my free time. You're the one who gave me the idea actually."

"I am fairly certain I've never willingly gardened in my life."

That startled a laugh out of Potter, a warm, surprised sound that made Draco's stomach feel oddly fluttery. "No, I don't suppose you have. But you mentioned, when we ran into each other a few months ago, that your mother was keeping busy by tending to her flowers. Didn't seem like a half-bad idea." Draco chest felt tight at the mention of his mother and the fact that Potter had been paying as much attention to their earlier conversation as Draco had. 

"Well then, I wish you luck. I am sure my mother will be pleased to know she is still inspiring trends."

Potter opened his mouth, hesitating before saying, "I—I should probably get going. I'm meeting up with some friends soon."

Once again, Draco felt that same curl of disappointment that he did not have longer with Potter, but it was probably for the best. Thus far they had managed to avoid coming to blows or dealing out hexes, but with their history, it was only a matter of time. Best not to tempt fate. "Of course. Until next time, Potter."

Potter gave him an inscrutable look, before a sliver of a smile crossed over his face. "Until next time."

~~~~~

The pub was packed, and Draco wasn't sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. He would much rather be at Brian's flat right now, fucking him through the mattress, but Brian had insisted on grabbing a drink first. The Muggle pub was closer to Diagon Alley than Draco would have normally prefered, but the packed room meant it was easier to blend into the crowd.

He had met Brian several months back at a gay Muggle club Theo had dragged him to visit. There was still quite a bit of prejudice against homosexuality in the Wizarding world, especially among the pure-blood families, but Theo had always been good at finding ways to push the boundaries. Draco had ended up going home with Brian, and while it had not exactly blown his mind, Draco had certainly enjoyed himself. He had gotten in touch with Brian a few times since, whenever he felt the urge to get off with somebody warm and male.

He leaned against the bar as Brian ordered their drinks, feeling the low thrum of anticipation that he always got when he knew he was going to get laid. Brian was leaning half-over the bartop, his arse sticking out invitingly, and Draco decided that he could suffer through a few drinks. Of course, that was before Harry bloody Potter walked up to the bar.

Potter spent several moments trying to catch the attention of one of the bartenders and shouting out an order. The bartender nodded, and Potter turned to look out at the crowd, his eyes widening when they caught sight of Draco standing right next to him.

"Malfoy!" Potter greeted, with a surprisingly amount of enthusiasm.

"Potter."

"What are you doing here?" Potter leaned close. "This is a Muggle pub! Did you know that?"

Potter's breath was warm against Draco's ear, his cheek surprisingly smooth as it brushed up against his own. Draco suppressed a shiver. Potter was clearly more than a little tipsy.

"Why yes, yes I—"

"Here you go, Draco." Brian handed Draco a glass of something cool and clear. His gaze flicked between Potter and Draco, and his eyes narrowed. "Who's your friend?"

"Just somebody I went to school with." Brian pursed his lips, pressing closer to Draco as if to stake his claim. Draco barely managed to keep himself from laughing, both at Brian's ridiculous possessiveness, and the adorably confused expression on Potter's face.

Brian downed his drink in one long swallow. "I'm going to the gents, and then I was thinking we could get out of here."

"I thought you wanted a drink."

"I did, and now I've had one. I'm more interested in….other pursuits now."

Draco nodded. "Alright." 

Brian tossed Potter another contemptuous glance as he rubbed himself suggestively against Draco on his way to the lavatory. Draco noted the way Potter's eyes seemed glued Draco's hands as they slid over Brian's lower back in a distinctly sexual manner. He wondered what Potter's views were on same-sex couplings, and if he was as progressive when it came to love and sex as he was when it came to blood status.

"I don't think your friend likes me much."

"He's like that."

"Is he?"

"I have no idea, actually. We're not...close."

An awkward silence fell over them, with Potter checking on the bartender every few seconds to see where he was at with his order. Potter kept shooting curious glances at Draco opening and closing his mouth as if he could not figure out what to say. Finally Draco took pity on him.

"How's the gardening coming?"

Potter's face lit up. "Oh, it's great! Neville thought it would be best to start me off with non-magical plants, so we set up a little vegetable patch. It's not as much work to maintain as I thought it would be."

Draco laughed. He couldn't help it. He was in a Muggle pub, having a completely civil conversation about Potter's love for growing vegetables. Sometimes life was too bizarre.

The bartender caught Potter's attention, and Potter turned to grab his tray of drinks just as Brian reappeared. 

"You ready to go?" Brian leaned in to whisper, his fingers trailing softly over Draco's bicep. Draco glanced up, his eyes locking on Potter's. Potter's face seemed like it could not quite decide on what emotion to settle on, but Draco was a bit surprised at how relieved he felt that revulsion did not seem to be one of them. Draco raised his hand in farewell. "Enjoy your night."

Potter's eyes flicked to Brian. "You too."

~~~~~

Draco supposed he should not be surprised to run into Potter at a Harpy's game. Potter was waiting at the end of the queue for the concession stand, and Draco contemplated just turning around and avoiding him altogether. But Draco was thirsty, and he would be lying if he said he had not been a bit disappointed that he'd not seen Potter around since the pub a couple of months back.

"We meet again," Draco murmured, as he moved to stand behind Potter in the queue.

Potter startled. "Oh! Hullo, Malfoy. Didn't expect to run into you here."

"Do you usually expect to run into me?"

Potter ran a hand across the back of his neck and smile sheepishly. "I guess not. Though maybe I should start."

Draco huffed in amusement. "Quidditch _is_ my game, you know. I've got to keep up with the rest of the league."

"Is that what you're doing here then? Scoping out the competition?"

"I certainly didn't come to a Harpy's game for fun."

"Hey! The Harpy's aren't half bad, you know."

"Well they are not as bad as the Cannons…"

"If they're so bad, then why are you even bothering to spy on them?" Potter's snapped, surprisingly heated.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's hardly spying if I come to a public game. And I didn't say they were bad. Don't get your knickers in a twist, I wasn't insulting your girlfriend. She's actually one of the better players on the team."

Potter looked at him through narrowed eyes. "She's not my girlfriend."

Draco vaguely remembered some conversation with Astoria gossiping about the break-up, but seeing as how, at the time, Potter and the girl Weasley were practically sitting on top of one another, he had not given it much credence. "Alright then, I was not insulting your _ex_ -girlfriend."

Potter seemed reluctantly appeased, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Draco felt irrationally pleased. 

They managed to last the rest of the queue making pleasant conversation, mostly about the current Quidditch standings. Draco knew there was much left unsaid, but he was still surprised at how easy it was to talk with Potter, to pretend that they were just old friends catching up. 

It was not long before they parted ways, Potter melting into the crowd with a smile, laden with enough snack foods to feed a small army. Draco resolutely did _not_ think about the fluttering in his stomach at Potter's small smile.

And if he spent more time looking for a head of messy hair and bright green eyes than watching the Quidditch plays, well, nobody could prove it.

~~~~~

Draco was eating a solitary lunch at _Gallow_ when somebody slid into the booth across from him. Somehow he knew, without even looking up, exactly who it was.

"Did no one ever cover the concept of personal space with you, Potter?"

Potter grinned at him. "Nope, must have missed that day."

"Well, in case you were curious, sitting down at somebody else's table, uninvited, is generally something that is frowned upon."

"Is it?" Potter took a large bite of shepard's pie. "Sounds dead boring."

Draco geared himself up for a long lecture on social etiquette, when he caught the teasing gleam in Potter's eye. "Are you _purposefully_ trying to rile me up?"

"I figured, why fight it?"

"Why fight what, exactly?"

"Well, the universe is clearly conspiring against us. I don't think I see my friends half as often as I seem to run into you. So, I'm going with the flow."

"Is that so?"

"Yup. So, tell me all about yourself, Malfoy."

"Are we dating now? Would you like to know my sign, too?"

Potter flushed. "I only thought, if we're going to run into each other anyways, maybe we should talk for more than five minutes."

Draco's heart was beating uncomfortably fast. "Alright then, what should we talk about?"

"I dunno. Whatever we want. Friends, family, work, people we fancy…"

"Did you want to do each other's hair and paint our nails, too?"

"Merlin, Malfoy, you don't have to be such a prick about it."

"Fine then. Tell me about...tell me about what happened with you and Weasley."

"Ron? Nothing happened with—"

"Not _him_. I meant the girl Weasley. Ginevra. Everybody seemed quite convinced that you two were meant for each other."

Potter laughed. "Don't let her hear you call her that. And it's….complicated." Draco gave him an incredulous look and Potter sighed. "After the war things were just...different. We'd both changed. We were different people. We still care for each other but there was a lot of...a lot of stuff we both needed to work out, needed to do. We agreed to call it off, for now. If we're meant to be together, then we will be. But we both need some time to grow up a bit before we can think about the future or forever."

"So in the meantime you are out and about. Sowing your wild oats, as the saying goes?"

Potter's smile was self-conscious. "Eh, well, there's a distinct lack of sowing, to be honest."

Draco opened his mouth to ask one of the thousands of questions on his tongue. Surely the Chosen One could not be having difficulties finding somebody to bed? Though maybe he was not into sex, or casual sex...or women. Draco felt desperate to find out which, but a quick glance at Potter showed him just how uncomfortable he was. Maybe he was one of those people who just couldn't talk about sex. As curious as Draco was, he was not quite ready to destroy the fragile peace between them.

"Did you catch the Arrows game last week?"

Potter's eyes lit up with relief at the change of topic, and he latched onto the Arrows discussion with alarming enthusiasm. The rest of the lunch hour passed in the blink of an eye, the minutes melting away like snow as they talked and ate.

"We should do this again sometime," Potter murmured as Draco prepared to leave.

"Why?" Draco was a bit horrified by the confusion evident in his tone.

"I don't know. I sort of like talking to you. It's easy. I mean, we have some similar interests, but you don't...you don't want anything from me. I love my friends, but it's nice hanging out with somebody who doesn't expect anything from me, not even for me to be nice."

"So, essentially, you want to hang out with somebody you can be a prick to without feeling guilty about it?"

"Merlin, when you say it like that it sounds awful."

"It sounds honest. And I don't mind. I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you're not actually a bad bloke."

"Yeah, well…"

Draco hesitated before walking away. "You can owl me, if you want. Either way, I am sure I'll be seeing you, Potter."

He felt Potter's eyes on him all the way to the exit.


	3. Chapter 2

Draco looked around the crowded restaurant, ignoring the flip in his belly as he caught sight of Potter's messy black hair. Potter's gaze caught his and his face creased into a small smile as he waved Draco over.

"Twice in one month, Potter. I am beginning to think you don't have any real friends."

"Shove off, Malfoy. I've been dying to try the chips here. I've heard they're amazing."

"What could possibly be so amazing about them? They're chips. Everywhere has chips."

Potter rolled his eyes. "That's why we're here. To find out."

Draco looked at the menu dubiously. "I don't think my trainer would be thrilled to hear I'm loading up on fried foods…"

"Oh come on, Malfoy, live a little!" Draco raised his brows, and Potter sighed dramatically. "Fine. But don't think you're going to get away with nicking any of mine. You stick to your lettuce, and I'll stick to my delicious, delicious carbs."

Potter grinned, and the smile lit up his face. He looked _good_ sitting there with his windblown hair, tight blue jumper, and sparkling green eyes. Draco hated that he noticed. He hated how he could feel his cheeks heating up under Potter's gaze.

The waitress arrived and Draco gratefully ordered, sticking to a salad and hoping it would be palatable. This place did not exactly look like the kind of establishment where one could expect fresh produce. It was small, discreet, and Muggle though, so Draco was not complaining. He may miss the fine dining at _La Magia_ in Diagon Alley, but these days the service there was less than satisfactory...if you were a Malfoy, at least. Draco figured Potter had his own reasons for avoiding popular wizarding restaurants. 

They generally stayed away from heavier topics when they met, sticking to Quidditch and work and the weather. If he was honest, Draco was not quite sure why Potter kept owling him. Every time they met up, Draco expected it to be the last time. But a week or two later, Potter's eagle owl would come swooping in with a hastily scrawled invitation. Draco figured it was the novelty of it all that kept Potter entertained. That, and the secrecy.

"So, if the chips here are so good, why aren't you here with Weasley and Granger?"

Potter gave him a strange look. "I don't actually go everywhere with them, you know. We do lead separate lives."

Draco snorted, doing his best to look innocent when Potter glared. "Of course." He flashed Potter a mocking smile. "I don't suppose they know you are here with me."

Potter's cheeks turned red and he looked away, biting his lip. That's what Draco thought.

"I, erm, no?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

Potter fiddled with his beer bottle. "They don't exactly know about any of this. That we've been running into each other and getting lunch, I mean."

"I see." Draco took a sip of his whisky, trying to mask the inexplicable sliver of disappointment he felt at Potter's admission. It wasn't as if Draco hadn't been expecting it, and Draco certainly had not told any of _his_ friends about...whatever this was with Potter. But it still burned that Draco had been reduced to a dirty little secret. And not even the sexy kind.

"It's only—I tried to tell them, but the second I mentioned your name, they all sort of...went off. I reckon Hermione's the only one who really understands why I had to speak up for you at your trial, and even she's not exactly happy about it. It just wasn't worth the fight. I'm so bloody sick of fighting."

Part of Draco wanted to bristle at that, at the idea that a Malfoy, that _he_ , wouldn't be worth fighting for. Potter had a point though, and anything that made him look as exhausted and haggard as he did right now was probably best avoided, for the sake of all wizarding-kind. If another Dark Lord popped up, they would all want Potter in prime fighting condition.

"Merlin, Potter, no need to get so worked up. If it means I won't have to socialise with the Weasley clan, then I think I can survive a little secrecy. Besides, it keeps things exciting." Draco smiled suggestively, and a dark blush spilled down Potter's neck. 

Interesting.

~~~~~

Draco dressed quickly, doing his best to keep his head down and his mouth shut. He didn't think any of his teammates would attack him, but it was clear there was no love lost there. If he didn't love flying so much, and if he wasn't so desperate to make a new name for himself, he wasn't sure he would have bothered to stick it out.

He did love Quidditch though, and he knew that becoming a well-loved player could do a world of good for him and his family name. So he put up with the cold silences and heated glares, because nothing was going to stop him from rising to the top. Luckily none of his teammates were stupid enough to let their personal feeling towards him affect how they played the game. Draco may only be on the reserve team for now, but it was clear from training that he had what it took. Puddlemere's current Seeker, Hemsley, was going to be retiring soon, and then Draco would have his chance. Once he started winning matches for Puddlemere, he would be everybody's new best friend. Everybody loves a winner.

He checked his watch and swore. Fuck, he was supposed to meeting Astoria for dinner in five minutes. She hated sitting in restaurants by herself, looking like she'd been stood up. Draco glanced down. He supposed his current outfit would have to do.

Draco arrived at the restaurant with seconds to spare, an out-of-the-way little French place that Astoria had discovered during one of her many walks around London for architectural inspiration.

"You were nearly late," Astoria admonished as Draco kissed her cheek hello.

"Lucky for everybody I was not."

Astoria grinned. "I don't think our mothers would be too pleased if you had stood me up."

"Oh Salazar, not this again."

Astoria nodded in commiseration while the waiter poured them some wine. "They've set their hearts on it. My mother seems to go deaf every time I mention that we're _seeing where things go_. Though my father is always ready to point out that there are plenty of other eligible pure-blood men that they could set me up with." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Well, at least you like men. When my mother isn't going on about how perfect we look together, she's pointing out every single witch of status and bemoaning her lack of grandchildren." Draco paused and frowned into his wine glass. "I think she knows."

Astoria gasped. "Really?"

"I don't think she has admitted it to herself, and maybe she doesn't know that I am gay exactly, but...there's this sort of manic gleam in her eyes whenever she talks about marriage and grandchildren. I think she's picked up on my lack of enthusiasm and is...reacting. The less interested I seem, the harder she pushes. It's as if she believes she can make me want to get married if only she tries hard enough."

Astoria slipped a small, smooth hand over Draco's and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry. It's all so backwards, the way the old families do things, the emphasis on marriage and children and carrying on the family name. Whatever happened to love?"

Draco snorted. "Love? Not turning into a Hufflepuff on me, are you, Astoria?"

"Oh, get bent. I'm saying that we should be allowed to be with whoever we want. And if they're a Muggle, or a squib, or the same sex...none of that should matter."

"But it does matter. At least it does to my parents. I _do_ believe they love me, but we both know they would disown me if they found out about my preferences."

Astoria bit her lip. "I wish it wasn't like that, Draco."

Draco smiled sourly. "So do I. But enough about that, let's talk about something less bleak, shall we?"

Astoria nodded, looking around, before leaning in. "Well, we could talk about that fuckwit that Pansy's started seeing. I don't know if you have met him yet, but…"

~~~~~

"So what is this place known for?" Draco asked as he unwound his scarf. It seemed like the restaurants Potter asked to meet him at were getting dodgier and dodgier. The food was always decent though, Draco would give him that.

"Chip butty."

"What on earth is that?"

"Basically a chip sandwich," Potter said with an excited grin. 

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "More fried foods. Lovely. And now you have decided to wrap them in bread. "

"Oi, just because you can't eat any of these delicious foods, doesn't mean I'm going to hold back."

"No, by all means, go ahead. I am sure all that...Auror-ing you do will have to be enough to keep you fit." Draco's gaze trailed over the curve of Potter's bicep, almost against his will.

Potter's cheeks darkened and he looked down, suddenly fascinated by the menu. Draco frowned. If he didn't know any better, he almost would have said Potter was interested. More likely, he was just shy. Either way, at least Draco's subtle flirting had not earned him a punch in the jaw. 

"It has been awhile since I've heard from you. I was beginning to think you had gotten bored." Draco fought back a wince as he heard the words, hoping that Potter would not see them for the pathetic whinging that they were. It had been nearly a month since their last lunch, and with each passing, owless day, Draco couldn't ignore the heaviness in his stomach. It was ridiculous, mourning the loss of Potter. They weren't even _friends_. But Draco could not deny how much he enjoyed their fragile truce. It felt like something just for them, something that the rest of the wizarding world did not get to dissect and analyze and judge.

Potter smiled. "Nah. You're many things, Draco Malfoy, but boring isn't one of them." Draco's heart skipped a beat, and Draco cursed that he had never quite mastered that cold, pure-blood control of oneself that his father had tried so hard to instill in him. Potter continued on, unaware of the effect his words had on Draco. "There was a surprise retreat for Auror Training. I was gone for a couple of weeks. Only just got back."

"I see. And that went well?"

"Yeah, it was great. Bloody cold where we were, but I'm learning loads. Though it _is_ nice to be back home. Well, nice isn't the right word, but it's familiar," Potter said with a grin, like he was letting Draco in on a joke. 

"Do you not live in a nice place?"

Potter's smile faltered. "I forgot you wouldn't know." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Right now I'm living in the house my godfather left me."

"Sirius Black."

Potter nodded, his expression tight. "Yeah. Grimmauld Place."

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully. "The old Black residence. I think I understand what you mean about it not being nice. From what my mother used to tell me, it was not the most...cheerful of places."

"That's an understatement," Potter snorted. "Though we did loads of cleaning up during…" He trailed off with a frown, before he picked up again, "And I've been working on it a little in my spare time."

"When you're not gardening."

Potter's eyes crinkled attractively with the force of his smile. "When I'm not gardening," he agreed. 

"I've always been curious about it. My mother would never let me visit, but I was fascinated as a child by her stories of the place."

"You should…" Potter paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous for a moment. "You should come over sometime. Take a tour."

Draco started, surprised by the unexpected gesture. He kept expecting Potter to cut ties, for him to remember their complicated past, for Potter to remember that he _hated_ Draco, and leave him behind. Instead, he seemed almost determined for them to be friends. Draco knew first hand that it was not easy to dissuade Potter once he set his mind to something.

He must have stayed silent in his shock for too long, because Potter hastened to add, "You don't have to if you don't want to. I just thought...and, I, err, actually have something of yours. I was meaning to send it to you, but it didn't really seem like the kind of thing I should send by owl. And giving it to you in public seemed weird, and, well, you seem to have one that works just fine now…."

Cold realisation settled over Draco, his eyes widening. "Are you talking about my wand, Potter?"

Potter stopped rambling. "Yes."

"And you would be willing to give it back to me?"

"Why wouldn't I be? It's yours."

Draco stared at him. "Because you won it from me. It's your right to keep it. Not to mention it has been over two years, and you have never once indicated that you would be interested in returning it." His voice was sharper than he had intended, but it was his _wand_.

This time Potter looked sheepish. "I actually just found it. I'd been meaning to give it back after the trials, but everything was so chaotic then, what with moving out of the Burrow and starting training...I forgot. I came across it the other day while cleaning and realised I'd never returned it."

"If you're offering, then I would very much like my old wand back." There. That was better. Cordial. Polite. Not at all betraying the eager desperation prowling under his skin. Draco had gotten a new wand after the war, and it worked perfectly fine, but it had never felt as _right_ in his hand as his old Hawthorne wand had.

"Of course. You can come over anytime, and I'll hand it over. I can give you a tour of Grimmauld Place too, if you'd like?"

Draco nodded and raised his glass, not trusting himself to speak and not demand to be taken to Potter's house immediately for the transfer. He took a long sip of his drink. Potter watched him, his eyes darkening when Draco licked the liquid from his lips. As much as his head told him it was insanity, Draco knew desire when he saw it. He had not been expecting it from Potter, of all people. Potter's gaze made its way up his face, and Draco raised his eyebrows when their eyes finally locked. Immediately, Potter looked away. Draco wondered if Potter thought he was such an idiot that he hadn't noticed him staring.

"I'm going away with my parents for the holidays. I'll be in France for the next month or so, but perhaps when I get back?" Draco knew he could ask to do it this week, before he left, and that Potter would comply. For some reason, though, Draco suddenly wanted to put it off. Maybe he wanted something to look forward to after the long month with his parents. Not to mention that it wouldn't do to seem overly eager.

"Sure, yeah. After the holidays should work great. I'll owl you."

"Please do." He took another long drink, slightly exaggerating the tilt of his head so that his throat was more prominently on display. Sure enough, Potter's gaze was transfixed, watching the bob of Draco's throat as he swallowed. That was definitely interest Draco saw in his eyes, though Draco wondered if Potter was even aware of how much. 

Potter turned to signal the waitress for another drink, and Draco let his own gaze wander. Draco had been doing his best to suppress it ever since he had run into Potter again, nearly a year ago now, but he couldn't deny that Potter was fit. Strong and lean, with dark hair and plush lips—he was exactly Draco's type. He wondered what Potter would look like naked and sweaty beneath him and immediately regretted it when a tidal wave of lust crashed over him. It was an appealing thought. More than appealing, really, the idea of blowing off a little steam with Potter. It was a terrible idea, though. Draco couldn't afford a scandal, and certainly not one with the Chosen One. Besides, Potter might be a little curious, but that hardly meant he would be willing to act on it. And if he _was_ willing, Draco could hardly see him being the type to go along with a casual, no-strings-attached relationship—which was the only kind Draco was willing to offer.

No, best not to go there at all.


	4. Chapter 3

France was just as beautiful as Draco remembered, but Draco found himself eager to return home. This was the first winter since the beginning of the war that his family had been able to make what had once been an annual retreat to their Chalet in the French Alps. He had been looking forward to it, but he was disappointed to realise that, like so many of his childhood memories, the magical sheen of nostalgia had faded. There was an emptiness to the pleasure now, no matter how hard he tried to recapture those joyous feelings from his youth.

Draco had always adored these winter trips as a boy, shopping at the ridiculously expensive village boutiques during the day, sneaking sips of champagne at his parents' lavish and exclusive parties at night. He had even learned to ski, a Muggle sport that his parents were barely tolerant of, and only because the Descoteaux family, some of the most influential wizards in Paris, were quite taken with the "quaint" pastime. 

Draco loved it. It was almost like flying on the ground, the icy wind whipping against his face, the scenery a gorgeous blur as he whooshed down the mountainside. He'd had his first kiss on one of these trips, on a ski-lift with Pansy, the first and only time he had convinced her to try the activity. More memorably, was when he had lost his virginity, the last winter they had made the trip. He had snuck off with the handsome older cousin of one of the various pure-blood witches and wizards he was allowed to socialise with. They had been drunk on expensive wine and rich chocolate torte, giddy and high on their reckless daring. There would have been hell to pay if they had been caught—considering they were both very male—but it had felt worth it, at the time.

This place was filled with memories, but the years since Draco had been back had changed him. Winter trips to the French Alps belonged to a different Draco, and now he felt out of place, trying to squeeze himself back into a box that he had outgrown.

It didn't help matters that, now that Draco was of age, the elegant parties that his parents threw served a different purpose. Draco no longer had to sneak sips of champagne, but he also could not sneak out with the rest of the children. He couldn't grab a bottle of wine and play strip-chess with a pretty boy while his mother and father carried on downstairs, blissfully unaware and unconcerned with his whereabouts. No, now he was paraded about, his mother introducing him to every unattached witch of appropriate standing. 

There was no escape. Every conversation with his parents seemed to revolve around family and legacy, about marriage and heirs and carrying on the family name. The pressure to pick a match and get started with his familial duties seemed to mount each day, until Draco felt he'd go mad from it. He knew his duty. He knew that one day he would have to marry and sire an heir. The Malfoy name was not worth much in Britain these days, and it was up to him and his offspring to work towards restoring their family to its former glory. Coming out and finding a nice young man to settle down with was completely out of the question, not if he didn't want to find himself disinherited. His parents loved him, but Draco knew that love came with strings, and he was far from willing to test their strength. 

Unfortunately, the only topic his father enjoyed bringing up almost as much as Draco's lack of a bride, was his current form of employment. While most families would be thrilled to have their child playing for a professional Quidditch team, Lucius deemed such physical pursuits beneath the Malfoy name. He wasted no opportunity in lamenting Draco's decision to lower himself to such a dirty, public spectacle. Malfoys were meant to be the men behind the scenes, greasing wheels and lining pockets and pulling the strings of their public puppets. Draco's arguments of the positive publicity, the way the public clung to their Quidditch teams with an adoring fervor, how becoming a star and household name could help bring back some of the shine to their tarnished reputation, all fell on deaf ears. 

But Draco stayed strong. He would give in to their ploys for a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, but he would not give up Quidditch. Marriage and procreation would be for the good of the family, and so was his career. No matter what his father's thoughts on the matter were. Draco had learned the hard way that Lucius Malfoy did not know everything, especially when it came to deciding what was best for their family.

He wondered what his father would think of his acquaintance with Potter. Draco still was not entirely sure what their lunches really meant, but there was certainly something there. His father would probably tell him to use the connection and arrange for a _Prophet_ photographer to capture one of their outings. If the great Harry Potter did not mind Draco Malfoy's company, then maybe he wasn't so bad? Yes, he was sure that was what his father's suggestion would be, but Draco knew that would be a horrible idea. He and Potter may not be friends, but they had reached a sort of tentative understanding, and Draco was loathe to let that go. Especially for a ploy that would no doubt blow up in his face.

The truth was, Potter had never been far from his mind these past few weeks—these past few months, really. There was something so magnetic about him, something fascinating and captivating. He wasn't the most handsome person Draco had seen, and Draco had certainly been with more attractive men, but there was an undeniable aura about him that set Potter apart. That combined with his newly broad shoulders, easy smile, and striking eyes that managed to stand out even hidden behind those awful glasses...Well, Draco was willing to admit there _might_ be some attraction there. If he was not mistaken, he was not the only one who thought so. 

Draco knew it was dangerous, thinking of Potter this way. There was no way it would be worth the risk, a quick tumble with the Saviour could ruin everything he had been working for. Not to mention the fact that Draco was relatively sure that Potter had no experience with men. He had probably not even acknowledged to himself that he was attracted to blokes. Draco wanted sex, not a relationship, and virgins were hardly the best bet when it came to the kind of arrangement Draco was interested in. Though his cock didn't seem to mind the fact that Potter was likely untouched. Indeed, it seemed to find the idea of being the first one inside him to be a most alluring prospect. 

Draco grit his teeth against his arousal, refusing to wank to thoughts of Potter with his large hands and tight arse. He was horny and frustrated and for the first time this trip, he cursed the fact that Franciose had not shown up with his family this year. Blowing off some steam with a friendly face would have been a welcome distraction.

No matter. He would be back in Britain in just a few more days. Then maybe he could get himself laid, and stop fixating on things he was not allowed to want.

~~~~~

Draco had barely been home for an hour when a familiar owl came swooping into his kitchen. He smiled as he read the invitation for lunch the following day at another unknown Muggle restaurant. Training did not start up again for another few days, so he penned a quick response, and with an affectionate nip, the owl was off. He felt pleased that Potter had remembered when Draco was due back from France. Dangerously pleased. Draco scolded himself for reading so much into it. Potter had probably completely forgotten he was even away. It was only a coincidence.

The place Potter had decided to try this month was a little nicer than his usual picks. Apparently they were known for their phenomenal sushi. Potter had always seemed like a meat and potatoes type of bloke, but Draco supposed he should not be surprised that all of that Gryffindor courage applied to his meal choices as well.

"How was France?" Potter asked, in between bites of something that Draco was fairly certain had tentacles.

"France was...tense." Draco considered leaving it at that, but at Potter's curious glance he continued, "My parents are of the opinion that it is high time I chose a wife."

"Ahh, playing matchmaker?"

"In their way. I don't think there is a single eligible witch left in France that I have not yet made the acquaintance of."

Potter laughed, the sound warming Draco just as well as the jasmine tea. "And you're not interested in getting married?" 

Potter's question was innocent enough, but there was a glint in his eyes that told Draco that was not the real question he was asking. "No...not yet. I'm sure I will settle down one day, but in the meantime, finding myself a wife is not my priority...I'm more interested in other pursuits, at the moment."

Draco smiled at Potter, the hint of suggestion playing at the corners of his mouth. Potter stared at him for several heartbeats before coughing and looking away. 

Potter scratched at the back of his neck. "I, erm, was wondering if you were still interested in getting your old wand back."

Draco did his best not to roll his eyes at the obvious change in subject. "Yes, of course."

"Why don't you come over to Grimmauld place on Friday. You mentioned you have training, but you could come over after. Get your wand back, and I could show you the house?"

"Inviting me over on a Friday night, Potter? No hot date?"

Potter blushed and fidgeted, sucking nervously on an edamame pod. Flecks of sea salt sparkled on his lips, and Draco wasn't sure he was successful in masking the hunger in his eyes as Potter licked them off.

"If you've got plans, we can reschedule. I thought you'd want your wand back sooner, is all. That's the earliest I'm free."

Draco knew it probably wasn't the best idea to go over to Potter's house alone on a Friday night, but he really did want his wand back. He could behave himself for one evening. "Friday after training should work fine for me. Does eight suit?"

Potter relaxed back in his chair and nodded, taking another large bite of something slimy and unnaturally pink. Draco smiled, even as he tried to squash the annoying bubble of excitement that was welling up inside of him at the prospect of their date of Friday. 

No. Not a date. Just two non-friends seeing each other in a totally platonic and hopefully civil way. Draco closed his eyes and prayed that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.


	5. Chapter 4

Draco arrived at Grimmauld Place at exactly eight. He had rushed home after training and spent an embarrassing amount of time rifling through his closet trying to decide what to wear. No matter how many times he told himself that this was _not a date_ his instinct to look as desirable as possible could not be swept aside. He had finally decided on a flattering but casual shirt, and a pair of trousers that were just the slightest bit too tight, hugging his arse in all the best ways. 

Standing outside of the large, gloomy looking house, Draco couldn't suppress flutter of nervousness in his belly. This was so much different than running into Potter on the street, or meeting up for a casual lunch in the middle of Muggle London where nobody knew their names. This was Draco coming into Potter's home, his private, personal residence. This had a kind of purposefulness to it that their lunches had lacked. It felt serious.

Screwing up his courage, he walked up the steps and knocked on the door. It swung open moments later. Potter looked flushed and out of breath.

"Sorry, lost track of time. I was all the way upstairs when I heard you knock. Come in."

"And you didn't think to Apparate instead of running down the stairs?"

Potter waved a hand dismissively and led Draco inside. "I told you, I don't like Apparating if I can help it."

The entrance hall was dark and more depressing than even Draco could have imagined. Next to the door was a horrifying umbrella holder than Draco thought looked alarmingly like a troll's leg. Down the hall, he could make out the eerie shapes of what he supposed must be the mounted house-elf heads. Draco shuddered.

"Right. This way," Potter whispered, creeping quietly down the hall towards a set of stairs.

"Is there a reason why we're whispering?"

Potter jerked his head towards the mysterious set of curtains in the middle of the wall. "There's a portrait there. She's a nightmare. It's best not to wake her up."

Draco flashed a commiserating smile. The halls at Malfoy Manor were filled with portraits of his ancestors, and most of them were far from pleasant. "Permanent sticking charm?"

Potter looked back, surprised. "I guess it's not just Walburga who was worried about being tossed in the bin."

"Unfortunately no. My mother still refuses to go down one of the hallways in the west wing. Apparently good old Septimus Malfoy, one of my ancestors from the 18th century, did not approve of her marrying into the family. Had some kind of feud with one of the Blacks."

Potter snorted as he led him down the stairs. "Well, if you ever figure out how to take down a permanently-stuck portrait, let me know." He paused at a large liquor cabinet. "Do you want something to drink? I can take you on a tour of the house after."

"Firewhisky would be good."

Potter nodded, opening a fresh bottle and pouring two generous glasses. Draco took the offered glass and sipped at the amber liquid, relishing the pleasant burn as it slid down his throat. Potter still held the bottle in his hand, looking from the glasses, to Draco, up at the ceiling, and back at the bottle. He shrugged, keeping hold of the bottle in one hand and his glass in the other as he gestured up the stairs.

"It's too much of a pain having to come all the way back down here if we want another drink."

Draco nodded. Practical.

Potter gave him the grand tour, gesturing outside at a small square of dirt with a proud smile as they walked past the courtyard.

"It's winter now, so it doesn't look like much. But I can't wait to plan out what I want to try and grow next year."

Draco made low, appreciative sounds. He shouldn't care one whit about Potter's silly vegetables, but he found himself oddly glad to learn about anything that made Potter's face glow like that.

They moved on, Potter showing off the house's various peculiarities and atrocities. It was clear that the Blacks had been wealthy, though the years of disuse had taken their toll. Their taste tended towards the dark and macabre, but Draco supposed there were all sorts of pure-blood families. He could easily picture Aunt Bella living somewhere like this. Draco shuddered again.

His favourite part of the tour was the tapestry room. He wondered why his family didn't have anything like this, something to proudly display their lineage for the world to see. It was fascinating and beautiful, the golden threads connecting them all together.

"I thought you might like that." Potter's voice was strangely flat. His eyes lacked the warmth that Draco hadn't even realised he'd become accustomed to seeing.

"Yes," he said carefully, after draining the last of his third glass of Firewhisky. "Why shouldn't I? It's incredible, the magic that must have gone into this."

Potter's lip curled. "Might be more incredible if it hadn't been mutilated, but I suppose that's just the price you pay for purity."

Draco's brow furrowed. "Excuse me?"

Potter gestured angrily to the tapestry, pointing out various places where Draco now noticed burned out sections of fabric. "That was where your Aunt Andromeda should be, but she was booted because she loved a Muggle-born. And here's where Sirius should be, but he didn't believe in pure-blood supremacy, so he got lopped off too."

Draco's stomach clenched. Of course. He had been wondering when this would happen, when not mentioning the elephant in the room between them would get to be too much. "And what does that have to do with me?" Draco asked coldly. "I didn't burn them off the tapestry."

Potter scoffed, a sharp, angry sound that Draco hadn't heard from him in years. "Like your family wouldn't have done the same."

"Probably. But if you think nothing has changed, if you think I'm exactly the same as my parents, then why the fuck am I here, Potter? You are the one inviting me to lunch and offering to give me back my wand. Which, by the way, I still haven't seen. So why are you going through all this trouble if you think nothing is different now?"

Potter glared and poured himself some more Firewhisky before offering the bottle to Draco. "Your wand's over there." He gestured to the slim box on the side table. "And yeah, things have changed. You've changed. But how much, really? I mean, how much can you change in just a few years." Potter looked almost lost, as if he wanted to believe Draco was different, but could not reconcile that idea with their past. 

He slumped back onto the couch, and Draco joined him. Draco was silent as picked up the box and opened it. His wand looked just like he remembered, and his hands shook as he reached out. He ran a finger lovingly down the smooth wood, as he thought about how to respond.

"I am not sure what you want me to say. I was on the wrong side of the war, and not just because we lost. I—I _am_ proud to be a pure-blood, proud of the customs and traditions and history passed down through my family. But what the Dark Lord wanted…

"I was a child, a stupid child who thought I knew everything, thought I was prepared to play adult. By the time I realised how wrong I was, I was already in over my head. I regret that, I regret a lot of things. But I don't regret doing what I could to keep my family safe, and I can't turn back time."

Potter slumped, looking tired and weary and so much older than his twenty years. "I know. It's different with you now, I can tell you're trying and making an effort. But I still can't even tell my friends that we've been hanging out. I don't keep secrets from them, but how can I tell them about this? They'd never understand. They'd be furious and they'd have a right to be." Potter ran his hands through his hair, making the already wild strands stand up in chaotic clumps. "Hermione still has nightmares of what happened in your Manor, still bears the scars of what Bellatrix did to her. Ginny was nearly sacrificed, nearly consumed by Voldemort because of the diary your _father_ gave to her. And Ron...you almost killed him. I almost watched him _die_ , a casualty of your idiotic plan to—"

"He is not the only one who almost died. And Granger is not the only one who has scars." Draco's voice was low, and he regretted his outburst almost immediately. He was on the wrong side of the war after all; he didn't get sympathy, and deep down, Draco knew he didn't deserve it. What were his hurts compared to those of Potter's friends? To the countless others the Dark Lord and Draco's own family maimed and killed for the sake of purity and power.

Potter's eyes flicked down to Draco's chest, and Draco knew he'd caught Draco's meaning. Surprisingly, instead of outrage that Draco dare compare his measly scars with the suffering of the more worthy, Potter whispered, "I'm sorry." His words sounded round, full, and Draco could tell that they had both already had too much to drink. This probably wasn't the smartest idea. But apparently he was rather fond of stupid ideas. He downed another gulp of Firewhisky as Potter turned shining, too-green, too-open eyes on him. "Really. I—I didn't know what that spell did. I never would've cast it if I had, but that doesn't excuse it. I should have found you, should have—"

"I wouldn't have accepted your apology. I would have tried to make you feel guiltier, called you and your friends some horrible names, and probably would have attempted to cast something equally nasty at you while you were leaving."

Potter blinked in surprise. "Huh. I wouldn't have thought you'd admit that."

"Like I said, I am...I am trying to be a better person, trying to think for myself and form my own opinions. It's not always easy, and let's be honest, I have rather farther to travel on my road to redemption than most. But I don't want to be like that boy anymore, that boy who knew nothing of the world, who was scared and cowardly and whose entire universe was built on ignorance and hate. I may not agree with everything that you and your merry band of Gryffindors are trying to do to our society, but I am not my father. A point of great contention between us, and one which he does not miss an opportunity to berate me over."

Potter snorted. "Can't hardly blame a person for not getting on with Lucius Malfoy, but what's he got to complain about when it comes to you? Seems to me that he's the one that got your family into this mess."

Draco laughed, the sound hollow and bitter as he leaned back on the tattered green sofa and stared up on the curved ceiling. "He doesn't approve of my profession, you know. Quidditch is too common. I might get my hands dirty."

"Like he hasn't been doing that for years." Potter reached forward for the bottle of Firewhisky, the muscles in his forearm standing out as he gripped the bottle and poured. Draco was fascinated by the shift of tendons, the way they twisted and rotated, tapering down to the fine bones of Potter's wrist. He had the sudden urge to drag his teeth along the thin skin there, to feel the pulse of blood beneath his tongue. Potter made an inquisitive sound, and Draco closed his eyes against the image, his head spinning as he tried to recapture the thread of their conversation. Right, Lucius. 

"You know, I said something similar. He was not amused." Draco brought his glass up to his lips, frowning when only one fat drop of Firewhisky rolled onto his tongue. "And then there's my reluctance to marry. He can't seem to fathom why I might want a few years of freedom before chaining myself down to some pure-blood witch and popping out another heir for him to help groom." The thought of his father getting his hands on Draco's hypothetical children sent a chill down his spine. He knew his father loved him, but it was a different kind of love, the kind with strings and obligations. The kind that slowly strangled you with the weight of expectation, that paralysed you with the very real fear of its loss. He did not want that for his children.

"D'you not wanna get married?"

Draco sighed gustily. "Not to a woman. Which is the only kind of acceptable marriage for a Malfoy it seems."

Potter gasped, a soft, hiccupping sound, and Draco's heart raced as he realised what he had said. He turned to look at Potter, whose eyes were wide with comprehension and several other emotions that Draco was too drunk to place. It wasn't as if Draco hadn't been dropping hints for months. Potter would have had to be an idiot not to have realised, and Draco had long since (reluctantly) admitted that Potter was no idiot. Draco reached for the Firewhisky, this time drinking straight out of the bottle. It was immensely satisfying, doing something so uncouth. 

Potter cleared his throat, and out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw him hastily look away, his cheeks flushed. Though that was probably from the alcohol. Draco held out the bottle, and Potter accepted it with careful hands. He hesitated only a moment before taking a long gulp. Draco's stomach fluttered.

"I—I should really," Draco broke off, distracted by the way the lamp seemed to have tripled right in front of him. The lamp was hideous enough when there was only one. Three of them having the audacity to exist at once seemed like an insult to lamps everywhere. He blinked, and there was mercifully only one again. A small mercy. He wondered if Potter would mind terribly if Draco vanished it out of existence. "I should really head home. S'late."

Potter shook his head vigorously, then looked like he regretted that action immensely. "You can't Apparate."

Draco scoffed. "'Course not! That's why I was gonna Floo."

Potter frowned. "My Floo is restricted. You won't be able to get to the Manor from here."

Draco furrowed his brows. Right. The Manor was restricted as well. "I...guess I could take the Knight Bus." The idea of taking the Knight Bus in his current state of inebriation sounded most unpleasant, and he fought off a wave of nausea. Though it would probably be entertaining to see his parents' faces when he arrived at the Manor in that _common monstrosity_ , as his father liked to call it.

"No, no, no. You can stay here! I've got loads of bedrooms."

"I don't want to cause any inconvenience." Draco could give a fuck about being an inconvenience, but he wasn't sure that staying the night was such a good idea. He could not for the life of him remember why that was though.

"S'no bother. Honest. If you take the Knight Bus, you'll end up being sick all over yourself. You don't want that, do you?"

He really, really did not. "Alright then, I'll stay the night."

Potter gave him a blinding, slightly dopey smile. Draco's heart raced, and he felt suddenly light-headed. It must have been the alcohol starting to go to his brain.

"I—I think I'm quite tired now, actually."

Potter nodded and led him up several flights of stairs until they reached the fourth floor. Draco swayed when they finally reached the landing, leaning back against the door Potter gestured at. 

"Salazar, were there no rooms on any of the lower levels?"

"Sorry," Potter murmured with a sheepish smile. "My room's at the top, and I thought I'd give you the one next door."

Draco nodded and closed his eyes, his head spinning as he wondered why Potter would want him next door. When he opened them, Potter was standing right in front of him, so near Draco could make out the individual strands of hair that fell across his forehead, covering his distinctive scar. Draco's hands twitched with the urge to sweep the hair aside. Harry's head was cocked, his eyes curious and conflicted as they swept over Draco's face. 

Draco tilted his head up in an unspoken challenge, unsure of what he was daring Potter to do, but unable to resist pushing back against whatever it was that he saw in Potter's gaze. Potter let out a strange, garbled sound and leaned forward. He paused for a moment, staring into Draco's eyes, his lips a hairsbreadth away from Draco's own. Draco's heart felt like it might beat itself to death with the force of its thrumming, and Draco licked his lips as his mouth went dry. Potter was so close that Draco's tongue slid across Potter's lower lip as it swept over his own, and that was apparently the last straw.

Potter pressed forward, his lips taking Draco's in a desperate caress. Draco opened his mouth instinctively, sliding his tongue into Potter's mouth as his world turned upside down. Potter's mouth tasted like sweet smoke, and Draco couldn't get enough. It seemed Potter couldn't either. He let out little hungry sounds as he sucked on Draco's tongue, his mouth moving with unexpected skill. Draco's knees felt weak—an effect he was entirely blaming on the alcohol—and he was pathetically grateful for the solid weight of Potter all along his front, pressing him firmly back against the door. Draco sighed into Potter's mouth, bringing his hands up to slide through Potter's unruly hair. It felt like silk in his hands, so much softer and smoother than he had ever imagined—not that he had imagined it, of course. He certainly had not imagined what Potter's lips would be like against his own, what his chest would feel like pressed against Draco's, how firm his back would be beneath his fingertips. Draco moved his palms down Potter's spine, desperate to feel Potter's full arse in his grip. But the moment his fingers reached the curve of Potter's arse, it was as if a spell had been broken.

Potter broke the kiss, jumping back at least a foot and looking terrified and bewildered. His hair was even more of a mess than usual, his cheeks flushed, and his lips red. He looked gorgeous and very, very confused. Draco tried not to groan, the force of his arousal making him feel irritated at the sudden halt of their pleasurable activities.

"I, err, therearepyjamasinthedresser," Potter said in an unintelligible rush. "Goodnight." He turned and fled to the room next door, running inside and slamming the door. Draco threw his head back against the wall with a heavy thud.

He was far too drunk and too turned on to deal with this shit. By the grace of Merlin he managed not to slam his own door, stripping down and throwing himself onto the bed. Closing his eyes, he wrapped a hand around his persistent erection, wanking himself hard and fast to the memory of Potter's warm body plastered all along his own. 

When he finished, he cleaned himself off and summoned the pyjamas, pulling them on quickly and burrowing himself under the covers. He had known that coming over here would be a mistake, and look at what had happened. He was disappointed at missing out on a potential shag, but more worrying was the kernel of fear that they'd fucked up whatever it was that they had been building towards. Draco had come to enjoy Potter's company, their secret lunches and entertaining banter. He didn't want to lose that because of an ill-advised kiss.

He resolved to talk to Potter in the morning. He didn't care how awkward it was, he wasn't letting an unfinished drunken fumble take away one of the few enjoyable things left in his life.

~~~~~

Draco woke the next morning feeling groggy and disoriented. It took him a few moments to figure out where he was and why he was there. He groaned into his pillow. The house was silent, but somehow Draco could tell that Potter was already up. He summoned his clothes and slipped them on quickly, fighting his instinct to sneak off. If he left now, he was sure he would never hear from Potter again.

He headed downstairs towards the kitchen, the stairs seeming much more manageable now that he was no longer drunk off his arse. Not for the first time, he thanked Merlin for his god-given ability to mostly avoid the unpleasant hangovers that followed a night of hard drinking. He could always take a hangover potion to get rid of the slight heaviness and lethargy, but Draco had found that the intense nausea that followed the potion was rarely worth getting rid of such mild after-effects.

Besides, he thought, as he walked into the kitchen and saw a rough-looking Potter, it seemed unlikely that Potter had any hangover potion on hand. If he had, surely he would've used some for himself.

The kitchen smelled heavenly, and Draco was pleased to see the makings of a full English fry-up being dished up onto mismatched plates. 

"Wasn't sure if you'd be staying for breakfast," Potter mumbled. "Figured I'd make extra just in case." He handed to plate to Draco, somehow managing to completely avoid eye contact.

"I wouldn't miss it," Draco said cheerily. "Awkward morning afters are par for the course, but I don't usually get breakfast out of it."

Potter choked on a bite of toast and Draco winked at him as he took a delicate bite of eggs. The food was delicious, though somehow Draco was not surprised that Potter was a decent cook. He seemed so appreciative of food—being able to cook seemed like such a natural extension.

Potter sputtered and looked away, a dark blush staining his cheeks. Draco wanted to enjoy the moment, but he knew if he didn't put Potter at ease now, things would go pear shaped rather quickly.

"Listen, Potter, it's not a big deal, alright? I know it didn't mean anything. We were both drunk, and I had just told you I like men. It's natural that you might have felt a little...curious." Potter frowned, but turned to look at him. "Seriously. Don't worry about it."

Potter nodded slowly. "You're sure? I didn't mean to…"

"I know you didn't. It's forgotten, alright? I was honestly so pissed, I barely remembered it this morning." That wasn't strictly true. No way was Draco forgetting about that kiss anytime soon. Potter did not need to know that. 

Potter smiled, his expression relieved. Draco was sure he only was imagining the glimmer of disappointment he thought he could see lurking in Potter's eyes.


	6. Chapter 5

When Potter didn't send an owl over the next few weeks, Draco told himself he was not disappointed. He had thought he'd cleared the awkwardness between them after that disastrous drunken kiss, but given Potter's mortification, he couldn't be surprised at the distance. It wasn't as if they were friends, and Draco's life was hardly empty without the random bi-monthly lunch invitations. It wasn't a big deal, and it was probably for the best anyways. Sure, after they had finally hashed out the past in front of the Black family tapestry, he had thought that maybe their connection would be less delicate, but really, how long could Draco have expected their truce to last? Draco resigned himself to not receiving any more of Potter's last minute invites. Though it didn't stop his heart from speeding up every time he heard the soft beat of owl wings. 

It wasn't until mid-February that Draco finally heard from Potter. He came home from a late night training session to see a scroll sitting on his pillow. It was a hastily scratched out invitation to another obscure Muggle restaurant the following day. Draco considered turning Potter down, writing that he had Quidditch and couldn't make it. But it would be easy for Potter to catch him in the lie, and Draco felt embarrassing eager for his company. Of course, it didn't help matters that it had been ages since he'd gotten off with anybody, and after their aborted kiss the previous month, Draco's libido had gone into overdrive. He needed a shag. He needed to find some way to dispel this energy thrumming underneath his skin. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so eager for Potter's attention.

Lunch was not precisely awkward, but it wasn't as easy as it used to be. Not that anything had ever been easy between the two of them, but now Draco felt a new kind of tension crackling in the air. Potter's gaze kept lingering on Draco's face, his throat, his hands, before skittering away, a frown marring his expression. Draco could feel the heat of Potter's eyes upon him, and it made his hands itch with the desire to touch. He could feel his mood souring. Salazar he was being ridiculous. 

"What's wrong?" Potter asked, suddenly.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, I can tell. You're distracted, and you keep scowling and clenching your fists."

"I'm...frustrated, is all. It's not a big deal."

"Frustrated? With what? Your job?"

"Not that kind of frustration." Potter looked at him quizzically, and Draco sighed. "I was realising that it's been awhile, and I think that's why I have been feeling so out of sorts lately."

"A while since what?"

"Good grief. _Sex_. It's been awhile since I've shagged anyone. Bloody hell."

Potter choked on an olive and any lingering embarrassment Draco may have felt evaporated. He grinned, quite enjoying Potter's apparent mortification at the topic. "I am thinking it's probably best for my health if I can find a regular shag. I've been thinking of calling on Nott. He's not exactly my type, but I know he's not looking for a relationship, and he would probably be up for a fuck," Draco said blithely. Potter's face was red, but he certainly looked interested, his eyes bright with curiosity and something else Draco couldn't place. Shouldn't place.

"What about that bloke?" Potter said after a long gulp of beer. His eyes didn't quite meet Draco's, staying fixed instead on his lips.

"Bloke?"

"Yeah, the one you were with at the bar when we ran into each other last year."

"Ah, yes, Brian." Potter frowned at his name, and Draco wondered if he was remembering Brian's coldness at their meeting. Brian had been absurdly jealous of Potter. Draco normally would have found that incredibly annoying, but it had made Brian gloriously desperate for it when they had finally gone back to Brian's flat. Brian had been fun, but it had been months since Draco had even thought of him, and longer still since they had seen one another. "He was seeing somebody, last I heard. We were never really together, but he was convenient when I needed to get off." Draco took a drink of water and watched as Potter's eyes followed the movement of his throat. He licked a stray droplet of water off his lips and Potter's eyes dilated. 

Fuck this. Draco had had just about enough. He was frustrated and turned on, talking about sex and sitting across from a man he wanted to have sex _with_ and who he was fairly certain wanted to have sex with him too. Draco reached for the basket of chips in the center of the table, turning to carbs in an effort to keep himself distracted. Potter reached out at the same time, and their fingers touched, sending tingles up Draco's spine. Potter's fingertips slid along Draco's wrist as he pulled away, and something inside of Draco burst.

"Potter." Potter looked up, eyes widening at the expression on Draco's face. "I am only going to ask this once, and if I am wrong, then we can forget this ever happened. But if you can get over whatever it is that's holding you back, then I think that we could come to some sort of...arrangement." He held Potter's gaze, letting his tone and his eyes tell Potter exactly what Draco was offering. 

Potter swallowed, the sound audible even in the din of the crowded pub. His jaw clenched as he stared hard at Draco, and Draco prayed that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake. He wasn't sure he would be able to duck fast enough if Potter decided to deck him. Potter seemed to be vibrating with energy, the tension rolling off of him in waves, until suddenly he stilled. His eyes cleared and his mouth quirked into a small, nervous smile. He cleared his throat and withdrew a stack of paper bills, before throwing them on the table.

With a nod of his head, Potter got up and walked towards the door. Draco followed, unsure of what to expect when he exited. Would Potter be waiting for him? Was he leading Draco outside so they wouldn't disturb the patrons with their fist fight? Or would he have simply disappeared, letting Draco off the hook for his improper solicitation.

When he emerged into the bright, cold day, Potter was indeed waiting for him, his expression nervous but determined as he walked towards the alley that Draco had Apparated into. As soon as Draco followed him into the shadows, Potter pressed close, his arm wrapping around Draco. He felt wonderfully warm against the cold of the day, and Draco instinctively moved closer. 

"Mine, then?" Potter asked, voice rough. Draco's stomach flipped.

"Lead the way."

They Apparated onto the front step of Grimmauld Place, and Potter fumbled at the door for only a moment, before leading the way inside. The door closed with a heavy click behind them, and Draco turned slowly. Potter paused just inside the door, and Draco took advantage of the sudden silence.

"I don't want a boyfriend."

Potter's brows furrowed. "Okay…"

"I mean it. I wouldn't say no to a regular shag, but I don't want you going all _Loyal Gryffindor_ on me."

Potter rolled his eyes. "I think I'll manage."

"Good." With a hungry growl, Draco pushed Potter back against the solid door and kissed him like he had been wanting to for weeks...perhaps even longer. Potter froze for a moment, but then he relaxed and opened up his mouth for Draco, before kissing back with equal fervour. He arched against the door and rubbed his groin against Draco's, their hard cocks coming together in a delicious slide. Even through the layers of fabric, the friction felt amazing. Draco wanted more. He wanted to see Potter. He wanted to taste him. It had been far too long since he' had had the opportunity to suck somebody off, and he wasn't going to let the chance pass him by now.

"I want to blow you," Draco said, pulling back to look Potter square in the eyes. "Is that alright?"

Potter shuddered. "Fuck, yeah, that's more than alright."

Draco grinned and slid to his knees. He undid the buttons to Potter's trousers as quickly as possible, eager to get to the hard flesh below. His fingers trembled in anticipation as he slid down Potter's trousers, then his pants, exposing his long, thick erection. 

"Of course," Draco muttered. Of course Harry fucking Potter would be hung like a hippogriff. Draco wanted to be put out about it, but it was hard to stay angry when lust thrummed vibrant and eager beneath his skin. He could smell Potter's arousal, and a pearly drop of precome beaded at the tip of Potter's cock. A thrill of possessive pride stole through him. All of this was because of Draco. Besides, it wasn't like Draco's own cock was anything to sneeze at. 

Draco wrapped a hand around the base, his fingertips not quite managing to touch around the thick shaft. He pumped his hand, reacquainting himself with the feeling of another man's prick, the silken texture combined with the heady power of holding another man's pleasure quite literally in the palm of his hand. Above him, Potter moaned, and his hips twitched in an almost reflexive movement. Draco wondered if he had ever done this before. 

He was fairly certain Potter had never been with another man, but Draco had no clue how far Potter's experience ran with women. While it seemed preposterous that the Savior of the Wizarding World might still be a virgin, Draco could not deny that Potter's reactions didn't seem to be those of somebody who'd had many conquests. His instincts were telling him that this was the first time anybody else had touched Potter like this. Draco usually found virgins tedious, and stayed far away from the pretty, wide-eyed newbies at the clubs. Now, though, the thought of Potter being untouched made Draco feel pleased, something delighted and proprietary welling up inside of him. If Potter truly was as inexperienced as Draco expected (and hoped), Draco had better do his best to make this a memorable first time. 

Leaning forward, he ran his tongue up the underside of Potter's cock, swirling his tongue around the crown and licking up the gathering precome. Potter gasped. Draco did it again, and again, licking up and down Potter's cock until it was wet and glistening with saliva. Draco's own arousal strained against the waistband of his trousers—Draco had always loved giving head—and he slipped a hand down to undo his flies and free his erection. He looked up at Potter, and Potter looked back down at him with wild, blown-out eyes. His mouth was open and his breaths were heavy. His bottom lip was a shining, bruised red that made Draco want to suck on it. Potter's tempting mouth was too far away though, so Draco consoled himself with the prodigious cock in front of him.

It had been awhile since Draco had a prick in his mouth, and Potter was bigger than most, but Draco managed. He was heavy on Draco's tongue, the girth of him prying Draco's mouth open wide as Draco sunk down. Draco knew that many thought this was a degrading position, kneeling down and servicing another man, but not Draco. It always made him feel powerful and invincible. It was such a rush doling out pleasure as he saw fit, controlling the pace, the pressure, speeding up or drawing things out, making men squirm and beg as he cradled their most vulnerable assets in the warmth of his mouth. He wanted to do that to Potter. Wanted Potter to fall apart beneath Draco's talented tongue. 

Seeing Potter's face pinched in pleasure, it seemed like a reasonable goal. Potter's hips jerked forward, and Draco nearly choked with the force of his thrust. Potter sputtered out a guilty apology, but Draco waved him off. Though perhaps it would be better not to risk another gagging incident. Draco reached up to press his forearm firmly against Potter's stomach and anchor him in place. With Potter secured, Draco began to move in earnest. He bobbed his head up and down, taking Potter in as far as he could go before sliding back off. Potter mewled and screwed his eyes shut. Draco could feel the tension in Potter's muscles, and it was obvious Potter was close. Potter seemed determined to last a little longer though, and Draco grinned around Potter's prick at the unspoken challenge. He dropped his other hand to his own prick, and began to wank himself fast, the feeling of Potter's cock in his mouth spurring his arousal to delirious heights.

Potter's hands came up to rest on Draco's head. His fingers threaded through Draco's hair, but he didn't make any moves to guide Draco. It was almost as if he was using his tentative grip on Draco to tether himself in place. Draco looked up and took in the naked pleasure on Potter's face. He looked gone on it, swept away and desperate, his eyes watching every slide of his cock between Draco's lips with an almost pained-looking avidness. 

Potter's face twisted, and he rasped out, "Fuck, Draco, I'm—"

Draco knew what he was going to say. Luckily he didn't mind swallowing, because before Potter managed to complete his sentence, he was coming. Sticky release coated Draco's tongue and throat, and he swallowed the bitter fluid as he eased off Potter's cock. He could feel his own orgasm approaching and, panting against Potter's thigh, he worked himself to a satisfying end, coming in ropey spatters onto the floor.

They stayed like that for long moments, silent but for their harsh breaths as they recovered. Draco felt amazing, loose and relaxed and the kind of bone-deep satisfied that only came with a brilliant orgasm. He could still taste Potter on his tongue, could feel him in the ache of his jaw, and he had to hold himself back from stretching out like a pleased cat. This was not some lazy morning lie-in with a lover. This was getting off with an ex-nemesis turned secret not-quite-friend. 

With one last contented hum, he pushed himself back up onto his feet, straightening out his appearance with a flick of his wand. Potter was still collapsed back against the door, looking for all the world like he had just been hit with a bludger, but was happy about it. 

"Well, Potter, it's been fun. Let's do it again sometime."

Potter looked at him in faint bemusement, but a smile danced across his lips. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

Draco grabbed one of Potter's hands, pulling him off the door until he stumbled forward into Draco. Their faces were inches apart, and Potter looked dazed as he stared into Draco's eyes. His mouth opened slightly and his head tilted, as if preparing for a kiss, but Draco only smirked. "See you around, Potter."

"Hmm?" Potter blinked.

Draco slipped out of Potter's grasp and out the front door. With a wink, he Apparated home.


	7. Chapter 6

Once again, Draco was convinced he'd never hear from Potter again. These days, it seemed like Draco lived in a near constant state of worry that each time he saw Potter it would be the last. Probably because every time he saw Potter, Draco was doing something insanely idiotic. That was nothing new. He had been acting stupid around Potter since he was eleven. Fortunately, finally getting off with another person after months of celibacy had done wonders for Draco's mood. He couldn't bring himself to regret sucking Potter off, not even if it meant he wouldn't have the opportunity to do so again.

As always, Draco's supposition that he had heard the last of Potter was proved wrong a few days later. He was surprised. Not only because Potter never owled twice in one week, but also because the note was not inviting him to lunch. Instead, Potter invited him over for _after-dinner drinks_. Draco smiled. It looked like he would have another opportunity to suck Potter's cock after all. 

They didn't actually manage to make it as far as blow jobs though, when Draco Apparated over later that night. Potter was on him as soon as they walked into the living room. He pushed Draco back onto the sofa and climbed right onto his lap. His mouth descended on Draco's like he had something to prove. Maybe he did, but that wasn't Draco's concern. He grabbed Potter's arse—that gloriously firm arse—and pulled him down against him, guiding their groins into a dirty, grinding rhythm as Potter fairly ravished Draco's mouth. They rocked together until they both came in their trousers like fumbling schoolboys. Draco couldn't even be bothered to care. Orgasms were excellent for his disposition. Maybe he wouldn't have been such an arse at Hogwarts if he'd been getting laid. Though he doubted there was an orgasm in the world that was life-changing enough to overcome Lucius's influence. At least, not back then. 

He made to leave after, but when Potter sheepishly offered him that drink he had lured Draco there with, Draco could hardly say no. It was free alcohol, after all. They drank and talked for awhile, the conversation surprisingly easy between them, now that the sexual tension that had been hanging over their heads had finally dissipated. Draco left several hours later feeling satisfied and strangely refreshed, despite the sleepiness beginning to weigh his eyelids down. 

It was the start of a beautiful arrangement. They began to meet up several times a week, frequently enough that they had a routine of sorts. Potter rarely bothered sending owls to set up their liaisons anymore, instead casually mentioning one day that he was free most evenings. When Draco had appeared a few nights later, Potter looked pleased and not at all surprised. In fact, Draco was the surprised one, later, when Potter dropped to his knees, looking up at Draco with those intense green eyes. It was clear that Potter hadn't ever had a cock in his mouth before, but he was enthusiastic, willing, and he seemed to quite like it when Draco's hands tangled in his butter-soft hair. He came on Potter's lips and tongue, nearly overcome with desire at the lust-glazed look in Potter's eyes and the way his pink tongue licked Draco's release off his lips.

His mood was not the only thing that improved when Draco had a regular shag. His flying had never been better. Even his manager had remarked upon his stellar performance of late. He had heavily hinted at the possibility of starting Draco as Seeker within the next year, and Draco's heart soared at the news. He knew it was only a matter of time before his hard work on the Quidditch pitch paid off, and Draco was so close he could almost taste it. The fame. The acceptance. The redemption.

The following Monday when he came over to Grimmauld Place, he Apparated him and Potter up to Potter's bed, yanking Potter's trousers and pants off and swallowing his cock down without so much as a by-your-leave. He spread Potter's legs wide, and conjured up some lube—not as good as the bottled stuff, but it would do in a pinch. Draco stroked Potter's hole, begging Potter to let him in when he pulled of for air. Potter nodded eagerly, and Draco went back down, sucking hard on Potter's cock until he finally relaxed enough to let a finger in. Draco felt wild, flying high on adrenaline and victory. He wanted to make Potter fly too, so he crooked his finger, pleased with Potter's shocked moan and sudden euphoric writhing. Draco worked him over, his mouth on Potter's cock and his fingers fucking him open until Potter shouted his release. He came himself a few moments later, his come dripping onto Potter's limp cock as Draco kneeled above him. 

Draco's life felt fuller than it had in a long while. There were his gruelling training sessions, awkward family dinners, drinks with Pansy and Greg and Theo, shopping with Astoria, and his several nights a week spent at Potter's. It was, Draco thought, like having all the benefits of a relationship, without any of that messy emotional rubbish. He spent enough time with Astoria to prevent his mother from setting up dates with various eligible witches, and meanwhile he was getting it off with the most eligible _wizard_ in all of Great Britain. 

Life was good

~~~~~

They had been blowing off steam together for well over six months when Draco came over and encountered a distracted Potter. It was clear that something was on his mind, and though he was curious, Draco knew by now that the best course of action would be to wait it out. Eventually Potter would spit out whatever he had been worrying at. Normally it might concern Draco that he was so in tune with his fuck buddy's moods and quirks, but this was Potter. Draco had been watching Potter long before they had started sleeping together. It didn't need to mean anything more now that sex was involved.

Draco helped himself to a glass of Firewhisky, and sat down on the chair in front of the fire with that day's _Prophet_. Potter stared moodily into the flames. It occurred to Draco that he could go home to drink his own Firewhisky and read his own paper. With Potter in a mood and sex possibly off the table, it made no sense to linger. The thought filled Draco with a strange reluctance. Reluctance, he rationalised, that stemmed from the possibility of missing out on sex should Potter work through whatever was bothering him. Draco nodded to himself, satisfied with his explanation for the uncomfortable feelings, and opened the paper.

"So," Potter began suddenly, breaking the silence. He was quite obviously not looking directly at Draco, and the tips of his ears were dusted red. "I was wondering."

"Yes?" Draco prompted, after Potter failed to continue.

"Well, err, I was wondering why we, erm...why we've never had sex."

Draco stared at Potter blankly, his mind helpfully supplying him with every explicit detail of the many, _many_ times they'd had sex over the past several months.

Potter blushed, seeming to understand exactly where Draco's mind had gone. "I don't mean—obviously we've been having sex—but we haven't….we've never fucked. Properly."

Draco's eyes widened as he finally caught onto Potter's meaning. He was right, they hadn't fucked yet, though not for a lack of desire on Draco's part. Ever since that first time he had fingered Potter, he could not stop dreaming—often literally—of fucking Potter into his mattress. But Potter had clearly never been fucked before, and Draco didn't want to push. Potter might be fond of a few fingers in his arse, but taking a cock was an entirely different matter. 

Draco cleared his throat. "Fucking is a big step. I know that all of this is still rather new to you. I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for." Salazar, he sounded like a bloody Hufflepuff.

Potter grinned. "Aww, Malfoy, I didn't know you cared."

Draco glared, even as his stomach somersaulted at the open affection on Potter's face. "Shocking as it may be to believe, I'm not actually interested in fucking somebody who isn't ready or enjoying themselves."

Potter bit his lip, his expression sobering. "Sorry, I know that. But, um, I think I am. Ready I mean."

Blood rushed to Draco's cock, and he had to restrain himself from Apparating them both to Potter's bedroom right then. He was still a little annoyed at Potter for his earlier comment. Potter could stand to squirm a bit longer.

"Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"I, um, I really like it when you—when you put your fingers in me. The way I feel kind of tight and loose all at once." Potter drew in a shuddering breath, and Draco felt it in his own chest. "I like the stretch of it, and even though it's good, it still doesn't feel like enough. I want more. I've been dreaming about it. I dream about you holding me down, and pressing inside. I want that. God, Draco, I want you to fuck me."

"Draco?" Draco's heart was racing, his chest tight with lust, anticipation, and something sweeter that Draco refused to name.

"I figure if you're going to be sticking your cock in me, then we should at least be on a first name basis."

"Such high standards." Draco had stuck his cock in several blokes whose names he had not even _known_. 

"Are you going to fuck me, or not?"

Draco stood, prowling over to Potter and grabbing his waist. "I'm going to fuck you, _Harry_."

With a twist, they appeared in Harry's familiar bedroom, and Draco pulled Harry towards him for a hungry kiss. They stripped quickly as they stumbled to the bed, their lips never parting for more than a moment as their clothes went flying. For once, Draco couldn't even be bothered to do a proper folding spell on his discarded clothing. He was too focused on Harry and all the dirty things he wanted to do to him.

"How should we do this?" Harry asked against Draco's mouth. His teeth pulled at Draco's bottom lip, and Draco shivered.

"Why don't you turn over for me."

Harry nodded and reached over to his bedside table. He grabbed a partially used bottle of lube and tossed it back to Draco, before moving to his hands and knees. Draco's breath caught. Harry's lightly tanned skin seemed to practically glow in the faint light from the corner lamp. He wasn't huge or bulky, but his Auror training had given him strength and definition, the play of light and shadow bringing out the lean lines of his muscles. Draco's gaze trailed down from the head of messy dark hair he had grown so fond of, down the sweeping expanse of his back, and landing on his perfectly sculpted backside. Harry had a bloody fantastic arse. So pert and firm and fuckable.

Draco opened the lube and coated his fingers, noting the tension that seemed to vibrate through Harry's frame as he brought his fingers up to caress his wrinkled hole.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to. You can change your mind."

Harry shook his head. "No, I want this. Just...nervous I guess."

"That's normal. But it is going to feel good, you know." Draco continued massaging Harry's rim, pleased to feel it unclenching and relaxing. "It's going to feel so good."

Harry exhaled heavily, and the last of his tension left him. Slowly, Draco eased a finger inside. He pressed all the way in with ease, and he pumped in a few times before pressing back in with two. The fit was much tighter, but they had gotten this far before, and it wasn't long before Harry was loosening up, his passage relaxing as Draco twisted his fingers and rubbed against his prostate. Harry's channel felt so warm and silky, the feeling nearly undoing Draco, and it was only his fingers. By the time Draco had worked a third digit inside of him, Harry was panting loudly. His arse was wet and open, and Draco watched in avid fascination as Harry pressed back onto Draco's hand. Even though Harry had asked for it, part of Draco still couldn't quite believe that Harry wanted it, wanted Draco. He could see Harry's cock though, hard and leaking onto his sheets, proof of his desire. Draco's own cock throbbed painfully. 

"That's enough, Draco. I'm good. You should...I want you to…"

"Yeah, okay, I can do that."

He got to his knees behind Harry and slicked his cock with shaking hands. His overwhelming arousal made him feel jittery and embarrassingly nervous. This was not the first time he'd done this—far from it—but it had been almost a year since the last time and none of those other blokes had been Harry. Draco didn't want this to matter more, but he could not deny that the fact that it was _Harry_ on his hands and knees right now had Draco feeling like an inexperienced virgin, desperate to make it good and ready to blow his load at any moment. Before him, Harry's hole was beckoning him with its slick, puffy rim, just begging to be filled. He pressed the tip of his cock to Harry's opening, a tremor running through him at the touch.

"Ready?"

Harry nodded silently. Draco spared a moment to wish he could see his face, but he knew this position would be easier for Harry's first time.

"Alright, push back against me. It's going to burn a bit, but it'll get better. Let me know if it's too much."

Harry nodded again, and Draco pressed forward. Draco sank his length slowly into the burning heat of him, working his way inside in incremental thrusts. He slipped a hand around Harry's waist and gripped his flagging erection, wanking him as he pushed all the way inside. Draco stopped when he was fully buried to let Harry adjust. Draco knew from experience how overwhelming it was to take a cock for the first time. He ran a palm up and down the side of Harry's back while he waited, maintaining a steady pull on Harry's prick with his other hand. He hoped the pleasure would help to balance out the burn while Harry accustomed himself to the fullness inside of him. Draco's every nerve ending was alight with the desire to thrust into the beautiful grip of Harry's arse, but he held back, only just managing to balance on the knife's edge of his control. Finally, he felt Harry's hips move beneath him, hitching back as if to take more of him in. Urging him on.

"Want me to move?" He hoped Harry could hear the desperate plea in his voice.

"Yeah." 

Harry's voice was low and rough, and Draco's hips moved on instinct before the word had fully left Harry's mouth. He pulled out and pressed back in, shallowly at first, before picking up speed and depth. Harry whined and whimpered, doing his best to rock into every thrust. Draco let go of Harry's cock and moved back to grip both hips to give himself better leverage as he fucked inside. Harry was hot and tight around him, and Draco clenched his teeth against the urge to come. He knew he was being too rough, that he was riding Harry too hard for his first time, but Draco wasn't sure he could stop, not unless Harry told him to. His hips moved of their own accord, leading Draco by the cock towards an ever-approaching orgasm.

"Harder," Harry rasped out. "You can fuck me harder."

Draco did. He fucked him until Harry's arms collapsed beneath him, and he fell to his elbows. His back arched attractively into Draco's thrusts. Draco watched in avid fascination as his cock disappeared over and over into Harry's hole while Harry pushed back eagerly against him. The sight was mesmerising, the red, wrinkled skin of Harry's hole wrapped tight around Draco's flushed, slick cock. Harry's head was turned to the side, and his mouth dropped open to let out a constant stream of desperate, breathy moans. Draco knew he was not much better. Eager grunts escaped his throat without permission, as Draco pumped his hips.

With Harry's arms half-crushed beneath his weight, Draco reached around to give him a hand. He wanked him hard and fast in time with his punishing thrusts, and it didn't take long before Harry was spilling onto the sheets. His channel clamped down tight around Draco's cock as Harry came, and Draco only made it a few more moments in that vice-like heat before he was coming, too. His heart beat madly as he emptied himself inside Harry, the orgasm overwhelming in its intensity. Draco didn't think he had ever come so hard in his entire life. He had always enjoyed sex—who didn't?—but this had been in another category altogether. Judging by the near euphoric look on Harry's face, it had been pretty damn good for him as well. The sex had been even more mind-blowing than Draco could have even imagined. Which did not explain the entirely unexpected kernel of foreboding that had lodged itself in Draco's stomach, as if such earth-shattering sex could somehow be a bad thing. He ignored it. Negative feelings had no business making themselves known after sex like that.

Moments later, as they lay sweaty and sated side by side on the bed, Harry summoned a crumpled but unopened pack of cigarettes. He fumbled with the pack for a moment before sliding two out and passing one to Draco.

"I didn't know you smoked."

"I don't," Harry said, lighting up with a flick of his wand. He tilted his head questioningly at Draco, and Draco held out the fag for a light.

"I hate to break it to you, Potter, but this, right here, is smoking." Draco look a long drag, watching the smoke billow as he exhaled. He had never picked up the habit for real, but Theo smoked like a chimney, and he would always pout if Draco didn't join him outside when they were out together.

Harry shoved playfully at his shoulder. "Don't be a prat. I always wanted to have a smoke after sex. Thought I'd finally see what all the fuss was about. And it's Harry."

"There's fuss…Harry?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, there's fuss. But I think it's a Muggle thing, mostly. And a bit over-rated." He looked down in disappointment at the smoldering stick between his fingers. Draco tried not to think it was adorable.

"I don't know. I am rather enjoying it," Draco murmured, taking another deep inhale and letting the smoke curl through him before releasing it in a satisfied puff. "Fuck, I feel fantastic."

"Really?" Harry stared at his cigarette in determination, before taking a too-long drag. He sputtered, smoke spewing out of his mouth as he coughed. Draco doubled over in laughter.

"Don't worry," he choked out, once the chuckles had subsided. Harry was glaring at him in consternation, but the look didn't have any heat. How could it, when Harry's skin was still flushed, his eyes bright, his body loose and relaxed from writhing beneath Draco only minutes earlier. He looked good. Good and beautiful and happy. Draco cleared his throat and pasted on a cocky smile. "You can't be good at everything, you know. Well, _I_ can, but that's a different story. Some things come naturally."

Harry snorted and looked down wryly at the cigarette in his hand. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to be naturally gifted at smoking." His fingernails were surprisingly smooth around the slim, white cigarette, his large, roughened hands handling the fragile stick with an almost tender delicacy. Draco liked Harry's hands.

"Yes, well," Draco smirked at Harry, hoping it didn't look as shaky as it felt. "It's all about the sucking and blowing, is it not? I'd say I'm rather gifted when it comes to that."

Harry's eyes darkened, evergreen trees and damp leaves on a stormy night. "Yeah, I'll give you that."

"Lucky for you, you have so many other natural talents."

"Yeah, like what?" Harry's mouth pulled up into a teasing half-grin. It made Draco feel breathless with the privilege of seeing it, of being the recipient of that pleased, artless smile.

"Well, I'd say the way you took my cock just now was pretty impressive." Harry glared as he choked on his inhale again, and Draco smiled innocently back. It had been impressive. Impressive, and sexy, and mind-blowingly hot, the way Harry's back had arched, the sounds he'd made…Harry huffed a laugh, and Draco realised he had been lost in the pleasure of those recent memories. His exhausted cock made a valiant attempt to rise at the remembrance. Draco blushed and changed the subject before Harry could make a comment. 

"Actually, I was wondering about that. We've never really talked about past experience. Obviously you mentioned that you'd never done anything with a bloke before. But you and the girl Weasley were together for quite awhile."

"And?" Harry banished their smoldering stubs with an absent wave of his hand. His wand lay untouched on the bedside table. Draco felt a confusing throb of jealousy and arousal. 

" _And_ , did you two ever fuck?"

"We fooled around a bit, but it was all pretty tame. Only rubbing up against each other, really." Harry looked at him suspiciously. "What's it matter to you, anyways?"

That was a good question. Draco didn't know why he was so curious about Harry's past, why he was so interested in hearing about him and his ex-girlfriend. It was still a little surreal, hooking up with the Golden Child of the wizarding world. Maybe he only wanted to make sense of it all. He'd had his prick up Harry Potter's arse, and it was the best shag of his life. Draco figured he could be excused if that fact still had him reeling.

"I'm curious. Seems the entire wizarding world figured you two would be in it for the long haul. Though, with my new insider information, I suppose it makes a lot more sense now." He winced as the words left his mouth, hoping Harry would not hear the unfortunate connotation and think that Draco was planning on selling him out to the _Prophet_.

Luckily Harry didn't seem to jump to that conclusion, only asking, "Now?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, now. Now that you have been having rather a lot of enthusiastic sex with me. A man. I'm guessing being gay wasn't great for your relationship."

"I'm not gay."

"Oh, Merlin, I thought you'd gotten over your hangups. I hate to burst your bubble, Harry, but—"

"I didn't mean it like that. _Obviously_ I like blokes. But I like women, too. It's really more about the person for me. I don't think I much care about gender."

Draco let out a strained laugh. "Of course you don't." Salazar, it was like God was trying to outdo himself when he had created Harry Potter. It was bloody infuriating!

"Alright, you like both. So you must have truly cared for your Weasley, then?" Draco didn't know why he was hoping the answer would be no. It wasn't like they were together anymore. It was Draco who was in Harry's bed most nights. 

"I did. I do." Harry sighed. "Do you really want to talk about this?"

"I do." Draco turned over on his side to face Harry, a flare of unexpected possessiveness rising in him at the sight of Harry's lean, naked body, barely covered by the sheets. There was a love bite on his collarbone, and the barest hint of several finger-shaped bruises forming on his hip. Draco felt savagely pleased with the marks, with the knowledge that Harry would go about his day tomorrow, talking to his various Weasley/Gryffindor friends all while carrying Draco's marks with no one being the wiser. "Only if you want."

"Yeah, it's fine. It might be nice, actually. I can't really talk to Ron and Hermione about it. I mean, she's Ron's sister, and Hermione's one of her best friends."

"So, talk." Draco trailed his fingers up the thick veins in Harry's arm, tracing patterns into his skin. He wanted to drag Harry down and see if they could go for round two, but his curiosity reined him in.

"I don't know, it's all sort of complicated, isn't it. I fell in love with her before the war, but then with me leaving, and not knowing if I'd survive...I called it off. She understood, but it hurt her more than I'd realised, being left behind like that." Draco nodded. He could see her point. He remembered her fire and determination. She hardly seemed like the type who'd take kindly to being coddled and protected like something fragile. 

"Anyway," Harry continued, "we talked, after, and it wasn't the same. She was going back to Hogwarts, I was going into the Aurors, and we'd both been through so much. It didn't make sense to start something again. I mean, I love her." Draco's stomach twisted uncomfortably at Potter's declaration. He steadfastly ignored it, focusing instead on the smoothness of Potter's skin beneath the pads of his fingers. "I think I'll always love her, and I know she loves me too, but the timing wasn't right. We decided that if we ever got back together again, that that would be it. It would the last time for us, and either we'd make it or we wouldn't. We both knew that if we got together after the war, it wouldn't have lasted—we both had too much we needed to work through. Neither of us wanted that to be our last chance. So we put a pin in it. If it's meant to be, then it'll happen."

"I see," Draco murmured, unsure of what to say after Potter's big speech.

"Yeah, it's weird, I know. Ron and 'Mione know we've split up, obviously, but they don't know about the rest of it. If they did, they'd constantly be scheming to try and get us back together. But if it's going to happen, it's got to be natural, you know? It's got to be because we both want it, because we're ready to commit."

"And you're not ready for that?"

"I don't know. I'm in bed with you, aren't I?" Harry flashed a grin at Draco, soft and fond, and Draco did his best to return it. He flicked one of Harry's nipples, and felt his smile grow real at the slight darkening of Harry's eyes. "It's not like I don't see Gin all the time. If either of us wanted more, it would be easy to take that step. Maybe it means something that it's been years and neither one of us has." Harry looked off into the distance, his expression pensive before he literally shook himself and turned back towards Draco. "But enough about me, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"You've heard my entire pathetic dating history. What's your story? I could have sworn you were dating Parkinson at Hogwarts. Never thought you might be gay until I saw you and that bloke together at that pub last year."

"Ah yes, Pansy. She was rather taken with me in Hogwarts. Thankfully she's moved on since we left. She doesn't know about my….proclivities. As much as I care for her, I don't think she would take it well. I've always known I was gay, but you know how it is. There aren't all that many openly gay wizarding couples, and certainly not within the pure-blood families. It's all about maintaining the line and upholding the family name. My parents would disown me if they ever found out."

Harry looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Draco. But surely...I mean, your parents love you, I _know_ they do. Your mother lied to Voldemort just to find out if you were alive during the final battle."

Draco shivered at the uncomfortable reminder. "Of course they wanted me alive. I'm the sole heir," Draco said bitterly. He sighed. "No, I'm not being fair. I know they love me, but being a Malfoy is about more than just love. It's about duty. It's one thing for me to keep a lover on the side to _discreetly_ tend to my needs, all while I marry a woman and sire an heir. But it would be another thing entirely to forego a wife and children and live openly with another man. They could never abide by that. And frankly, I don't think the rest of the wizarding world could either. I have rather enough to be making up for, without adding homosexuality to the long list of my sins."

"Being gay isn't a sin!" Harry said hotly. Draco's heart warmed at the defense. He knew it wasn't only for him, but it was nice hearing it all the same. It made sense, of course, but Draco had never been sure if Harry's latent desires had perhaps been due to some internalised homophobia. He shouldn't have doubted. 

"I know, Harry." His voice was soft, sad. He tried not to think about what his future held for him too often. It was better to live in the present and leave all of that for another day. "But you cannot tell me you don't know what I mean. I don't see you rushing off to tell your friends about your sexuality. Maybe you would, one day, if push came to shove. But I am willing to bet that your friends, progressive as they may be, have not escaped that prejudice entirely."

Harry frowned, but didn't deny it. "It doesn't necessarily have to be that way though, does it? We make our own futures. Nothing's set in stone."

"Maybe," Draco conceded. "We're still young. Who's to say what will happen. But when you think of _your_ future, what do you see? Are you with a man? Or are you living with your wife and three kids in house with a white picket fence?" Draco knew what his future held. A miserable wife trapped with him in a dreary Manor, a single heir growing up under the shadow of the Malfoy name, shoulders bent under the weight of expectation and the sins of their ancestors. 

"I'm not sure. I see all kinds of futures for myself." He paused, brows furrowed. "It's like this poem, or maybe it's a book….I'm not really sure, Hermione was going on about it last week...but it's like I'm in a tree, and I can see all of these different branches holding different possibilities for my life. But most of them are sort of foggy. I can't really quite make them out. And maybe in one of them I'm with some bloke, or I'm the Minister of Magic, or a world-renowned Potioneer, who knows?" Harry's hands gesticulated as he talked, mapping out the tree and its many branches, brimming with possibility. Draco wished he could see that tree, instead of the withered stump of his own future. "Out of all those futures, though, the one with Ginny's the clearest. But that could just be because she's the most familiar, the path most taken."

"You calling your ex-girlfriend a slag?" Draco teased, trying to lighten the mood. The thoughts of his future weighed heavily upon him, dragging him down into a sea of helplessness. He did not want to feel that way around Harry. Harry was light and air, the breeze on his face as he whipped through the skies on his broom. There was no room for the oppressive future here in the now.

"Oh fuck off." Harry pushed at his shoulder and Draco grabbed his hand, pulling him down until he was sprawled on top of Draco, naked and hot and oh-so-good.

"I would rather fuck _you_."

"That was a terrible line." Harry looked thrilled.

"It was, wasn't it? I'll have to make it up to you, then." Draco's hands slid along Harry's arse, pulling him in until he felt his growing hardness against his thigh.

Harry kissed him, and Draco tried to ignore how perfectly they slotted together, how his heart sped up when Harry's mouth opened up for him so sweetly. They were just fucking around. This was just a convenient arrangement, a holdover until they both came to their senses and moved on with their lives. Draco could not afford for it to be anything else.


	8. Chapter 7

"So...what are you buying me for Christmas?" Astoria asked, her eyes twinkling. They walked arm and arm down the snowy Hogsmeade streets, Draco's other arm laden with the fruits of their Christmas shopping. It was a bright, crisp winter's day, the cold air pinking their cheeks. Despite the occasional hostile stare from passing witches and wizards, it had been a surprisingly pleasant day. Though spending time with Astoria often lifted his spirits, even when she was trying to trick him into telling her what he'd bought her for Christmas.

"I thought I would donate money to a charity in your name this year. So much more satisfying than material goods, don't you think?"

Draco schooled his features into a neutral expression, preparing for Astoria's outrage. He was not disappointed. He made it through several long moments of her wide-eyed, horrified shock, before his face split into a grin. She hit him in the side with her handbag, and he winced. He'd forgotten about her habit of carrying around her sketching pad and pencils with her, both of which were rather pointy. 

"Well, that's what you get for trying to spoil the surprise," he muttered, rubbing at his side.

"But you won't even _be_ here for Christmas. And thanks to your ridiculous rule about us opening our gifts together, I won't get to open it for ages!"

Draco smiled indulgently. Astoria was not normally so petulant, especially when it came to gifts. But she had been hinting rather pointedly about her desire for a Muggle drafting table, and Draco figured she had surmised, correctly, that he had purchased it for her for Christmas. She was likely eager to get her hands on it, but she would just have to wait. Besides, there was still the little matter of figuring out where exactly she was going to keep it. She still lived with her parents, and much like Draco's family, they did not approve of Muggle "toys" invading their home. Unlike the Manor, the Greengrass home was small enough that Astoria would have a difficult time concealing the large table from prying eyes.

"It'll be worth the wait, Astoria. You can come over to the Manor the day after I get back, and we'll exchange gifts then." After the war, Draco was granted his own wing of the Manor, one that, thankfully, had been free of the haunting memories of the Dark Lord that permeated the rest of his home. The wing had been completely renovated, and had become quite the spacious sanctuary for Draco. He had several rooms that were currently unoccupied, and he would be more than willing to store Astoria's table there for her use whenever she liked. It might be nice, actually, to have some more regular company. As comforting as those rooms were compared to the rest of the Manor, there was a loneliness there, too.

Astoria's face was quiet and thoughtful when he looked back up. She had been acting somewhat strange all day, her light-hearted joviality interspersed with sudden bouts of pensive silence. Clearly, she was working through something in her head, and Draco felt a nervous reluctance to hear whatever it was. In the meantime, he was quite ready for an afternoon pick-me-up. They headed over to Madame Puddifoot's. Draco found the place to be a little excessive, but they did have excellent tea.

It was not until they had settled into their table with a pot of fragrant, steaming tea and a plate of ginger biscuits, that Draco noticed Astoria's new resolve. He poured out the tea, adding in sugar and milk, and waited apprehensively.

"I've been thinking, Draco."

"Yes, I've noticed you do that rather a lot."

She frowned. "This is serious."

Draco's stomach jumped, and he took a long sip of tea, hoping to calm his jangling nerves. "Alright."

"I think we should get married."

Time seemed to stop, and the world around Draco froze for agonising seconds before his brain fully processed her words. "What?!" 

Several head turned to look at them, their curious gazes growing suspicious when they caught sight of who it was. Draco ignored them. 

"Shhh," Astoria admonished. She nibbled gingerly on a biscuit, her eyes unable to meet Draco's.

"Are you insane?" Draco hissed. "We cannot get _married_."

"Why not?" Astoria challenged, finally raising her eyes to meet his. She looked determined, and Draco suppressed a growl of frustration. He knew quite well how stubborn Astoria was once she got an idea into her head. Normally, he quite admired the trait.

"Have you forgotten our...compatibility issues?" Draco was reluctant to spell it out more explicitly in the crowded shop where somebody might overhear.

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Hardly. But really, it's just one minor setback, barely worth mentioning when you think about everything we'd gain."

"Minor setback?" Draco sputtered, trying to suppress the growing note of hysteria in his voice. "I would say it's a pretty fucking major setback for a healthy marriage, Astoria. You know I love you, but I couldn't do that to you. We'd be miserable."

"No, we wouldn't, Draco. We certainly wouldn't be as miserable as whatever poor witch you'd eventually end up marrying, some girl expecting something you'll never be able to give her. At least I'll know the score going into it."

Draco scowled, guilt squeezing at his stomach at Astoria's words. He knew someday he would have to get married, to do his duty to his family. He tried not to think of the unfortunate witch he would end up shackled to.

"Seriously, Draco, what's your plan here? You're going to end up marrying a pure-blood witch someday, right? Make your parents proud, provide an heir to carry on the Malfoy name? Why not do that with me?"

"Where is this coming from Astoria? A year ago you were waxing poetic about true love, and now you're telling me we should have some kind of sham marriage? I don't love you Astoria, not like that. You deserve somebody who will."

She smiled sadly. "I know that, Draco, but my parents don't. They're even more eager than your parents are to marry me off, and they're starting to feel dissatisfied with the fact that all of our 'dates' haven't led to a ring on my finger. They've begun grumbling about potentially looking for other candidates, and some of them…" Astoria shuddered. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. In a perfect world, you could marry some dream man, and I could pursue my career and wait to get married until I was good and ready. But we don't live in a perfect world. I think this could work for both of us.

"You're my best friend, and we already know we get along. You'll get your parents off your back, and I'll get out from under my father's thumb. They won't be able to stop me from becoming an architect, and you won't have to worry about being disinherited." Her eyes were big and earnest, the words rolling off her tongue in a tangled, over-eager mess as she tried to convince Draco to go along with her plan. "I already know all about your...preferences, and I won't be bothered if you take a lover. Hell, I rather expect I'll be taking one or two myself. It's perfect."

Astoria painted such a pretty picture, one that Draco wanted so desperately to believe. But she was forgetting one rather crucial part. "And when it comes time for me to father a child?"

Astoria wrinkled her nose. "Yes, well, I'm sure we can figure that part out when it comes to it. We only need the one. I'd even be alright with having it early on; that will satisfy both our parents quite nicely."

"Sounds like you have got it all worked out." Draco was not sure why the thought made him feel so angry and helpless. Here Astoria was with the most palatable solution he'd heard yet to the problem that had been looming over him for years, and all Draco could feel was a sense of wrongness.

"I have. I've been thinking about it for months. We both know that we can't put off getting married for much longer, a couple of years at the most. I know this is sudden, and it's not like you have to decide right now, but...I think this could really work. I think this could be how we make our parents happy and still manage to stay sane."

Draco took a deep breath and sipped at his tea, the liquid already gone cold. "And love? What about that? What happens when you find a nice man that you truly want to spend the rest of your life with?" 

"Then we'll divorce. I don't imagine this will last forever. If I do find somebody to love—if either of us do—we'll both be free to walk away. But if this mystery man is out there, I haven't met him yet, and I don't have the luxury of waiting around forever. Of all the men I know, Draco, you're the only one I'd marry, the only one I think could make me any kind of happy."

Draco swallowed, but said nothing. He was overwhelmed, unprepared for the sudden weight of all of his future responsibilities being thrust upon his shoulders. He thought back to his conversation with Harry all those months ago when he first shagged him, how they had talked about the different futures available for them. But now his future, the one that rang loudest, like a malevolent siren singing him to his doom, had come calling. He felt trapped, an animal being herded towards the well-worn path. Already, he missed the freedom he had felt just last night in Harry's bed, sinking into the heat of him as they traded frenzied kisses.

Astoria's eyes widened, comprehension dawning. "Oh. This isn't about _me_ finding love, is it? You've met someone."

Draco straightened in alarm. "What?"

"You have. That's why you're dragging your feet. I can't believe I hadn't noticed, but you've been distracted for ages now. And you're always so busy."

"I am…" Draco hesitated, searching for the right words. He knew Astoria would see through an outright lie. "I'm seeing someone, yes, but it's not serious. It's only sex."

Astoria's eyebrows rose and she took a delicate sip of tea. "That wasn't all that convincing, Draco. Surely you can do better than that."

Draco's palms felt clammy, his throat tightening with the beginnings of panic, but he tamped it down. Astoria may know him well, but she hardly knew everything about him. He was sure if she knew he was fooling around with Harry Potter, she would understand just how ridiculous the idea of a real relationship between them was. But he couldn't bring himself to tell her his name. He knew that she would keep it secret, that she would not breathe a word to anybody, but it still felt like a violation. And, he realised, it was something he wanted to keep for himself.

"Really, Astoria, it's nothing. Something to pass the time."

"Ah, so I suppose it won't last much longer, then?" 

Draco fidgeted, the thought of not getting to touch Harry's warm, smooth skin, to breath in his clean, woodsy scent, to banter and bicker in lazy post-shag contentment, had his hands shaking. Astoria smiled, looking bizarrely pleased. "I thought so. Clearly there's something there. You have feelings for this mystery man of yours."

"No, Astoria, I don't." She looked at him, unimpressed. "I can't." _For more reasons than you know._ Even he could hear the desperation in his voice as he breathed the last word, and the kindness and heartbreak in her eyes nearly did him in. He lowered his eyelids, taking several calming breaths. He focused on the loud chatter surrounding them, and the smell of tea and coffee and pastries. When he opened them again, Astoria's face was arranged into an expression of practiced lightness, and Draco let her deftly steer the conversation into safer waters.

He escorted her to the public Floos a few hours later, handing over her parcels as they prepared to go their separate ways. She smiled at him warmly, pushing up on her tiptoes to press an icy kiss to his cheek.

"I do love you, Draco. And I want you to be happy. I'll support you whatever you decide. But…" She shifted the weight of her bags around in her hands, biting her lip before looking up into Draco's eyes. "Think about what I said, alright. The offer still stands."

Draco nodded, and tried not to think about how her offer felt rather like escaping into a golden cage.


	9. Chapter 8

Months passed, and Draco put Astoria's proposition out of his head. He wasn't ready for that life yet, and his time had not quite run out. As expected, Astoria had been thrilled with the drafting table, and eagerly set it up in one of the spare rooms in Draco's wing. Many a night Draco would come home from training to the sound of gentle Italian music and the sight of Astoria sketching dreamily down the hall. It filled Draco with an almost uncomfortable warmth, having somebody to come home to. Even if that someone wasn't male. Wasn't Harry.

The downside to Astoria being around so much more was that she inevitably noticed his frequent overnight disappearances. Draco had taken to sleeping over at Harry's flat after he started shagging him blind. It just seemed polite, really. Draco ignored the voice in his head that felt the need to bring up the fact that Draco had never been so concerned with etiquette with any of the other men he had fucked. Thankfully, though, Astoria never asked him where he went, and never called attention to his absence, save for the occasional raised brow and knowing smile.

In March, Draco's manager called him over and told him that Hemsley was planning on officially retiring soon, and that they were ready for Draco to be the starting Seeker in the upcoming match against the Tunstill Tornados. Draco nearly wet himself with excitement. The night before the match he felt like he might actually vibrate out of his skin with nerves. Luckily, Harry was there to calm him down, offering his arse up to Draco's furious passion until they both collapsed in a sticky, sated mess.

Though they couldn't interact, Draco knew that Harry was out there in the crowd, watching him start in his first game. It filled him with an inexplicable happiness, knowing that Harry's eyes were on him. Somehow, he was sure that Harry would not be following the Chasers with the Quaffle or the Beaters swinging their bats. No, Harry's eyes would be on him the entire game. It made Draco feel invincible. 

He had never flown so well in his life, dodging Bludgers and weaving around players all while scanning the skies for a flash of gold. When he finally spotted the fluttering Snitch, he raced forward without a second thought, distantly noting that the Tornados' Seeker was nowhere in the vicinity. Draco scooped the Snitch out of the air like it was nothing, and it almost felt too easy. Then he heard the crowd chanting his name, thousands of Puddlemere fans cheering him on, and Draco knew there had been nothing easy about this, nothing simple about getting to this point. 

His team swarmed him when they touched down, a swirl of blue and gold back-slaps and gruff hugs and approving eyes. It might not be invitations to their children's Christenings, but it was a start. 

Draco stopped to answer the media's questions, knowing that positive exposure would be key in reforming his public image. He did his best to stay humble and grateful, praising the work of his team, and the faith of his manager for offering him this opportunity. By the time he got to the changing rooms, they were empty. Draco didn't bother changing or showering; he could do that later. Instead, he grabbed his bag and Apparated.

Harry was waiting for him by the sofa when Draco appeared in the living room. His eyes dilated as they swept over Draco, still clad in his Quidditch gear. 

"Did you see that catch?" 

"You were brilliant," Harry growled. A beat, two, and then they were both moving, bodies crashing together in the centre of the room, their lips snagging in a passionate kiss.

"Fuck, Draco, the way you fly," Harry moaned between kisses.

"Yes?"

"Yeah, God, it's obscene." Draco smiled against Harry's cheek, pressing fervent kisses along his jaw and the column of his throat. 

"Go on."

"You're so graceful. Powerful. All I could think about was you fucking me. How your hips twist and roll as you slam into my arse. I can still feel it, still feel your cock in me from last night."

Draco shuddered, his mind going hazy with want. "Salazar, Harry, are you trying to kill me?"

Harry's only response was a guttural groan as Draco scraped his teeth along his jutting collarbone. This was not enough. Draco wanted more, needed more. His hands slipped down and squeezed Harry's arse, and Harry shuddered in his arms. 

"Uh—" Draco looked around, trying to find a horizontal surface. "The sofa arm, bend over it."

Harry scrambled over, dropping his trousers, but hesitating next to the sofa. "I'm still—erm—a little sore. I don't think I can…"

"I won't fuck you," Draco assured him. He only wanted to look, to feel the taut globes of Harry's arse.

Harry nodded and leaned over the arm of the sofa, propping himself up on his elbows and sticking his arse up in the air. Draco's mouth went dry. He slid his palms up over hairy thighs and tugged Harry's pants down to expose his arse. Digging his thumbs into the crease, he pried Harry's cheeks apart. His blood rushed south as he exposed Harry's hole, pink and swollen and well-used from the memory of Draco's cock. Draco wanted to sooth it, wanted to wash away any lingering aches. Before he even registered the thought, he was on his knees. His movements were somewhat stiff and awkward, constrained as he was by the braces and guards of his uniform, but it didn't stop him from taking in the sweet musky smell and the way Harry quivered beneath his hands.

"What're you doing?"

Draco licked at the crease between Harry's arse and thigh, his tongue flicking closer and closer to his true goal. "Don't worry, you'll like this."

He didn't give Harry time to respond before he swiped his tongue up over Harry's rim. The flesh was hot and wrinkled, strangely pleasing. More pleasing were Harry's breathy gasps as Draco did it again and again. Draco could feel the muscle relaxing, letting him in as he sucked and licked. Draco wanted so badly to bury his cock in this tight, sweet place, but he didn't want to hurt Harry. And Harry seemed to quite enjoy this if the way he was moaning and trembling and bucking back against Draco's face was any indication. 

Harry whined in frustration, and Draco realised that his position made it difficult for him to wank himself while Draco ate him out. Luckily, Draco had zero problem helping him with that particular problem. He slid his hand up Harry's leg, his fingers teasing at Harry's inner thigh until they reached the thick base of Harry's cock. The angle was a little awkward, but Draco managed, letting Harry move his arse back against his tongue with graceful rolls of his hips while Draco worked his prick. Draco hadn't ever done this before—his back-room hook-ups never left much time for foreplay. He'd never mourned the loss, but now, with the feeling of Harry's arse around his tongue and the heady scent of Harry's arousal filling his nostrils, he couldn't imagine not having this. Harry's cock was fever hot and so fucking hard in his hand, and Draco shivered to remember the feel of it stretching his mouth wide. He moaned hungrily into Harry's arse and twisted his wrist. With a sudden shout, Harry came. 

Harry slumped against the sofa as he reached his peak, his hole pulsing under Draco's tongue as his cock emptied into Draco's hand. Draco's own cock was aching with the need to come, and he pushed himself off the floor, tearing open his trousers with his clean hand to pull out his cock. Slicking himself up with Harry's release, he slapped the head of his cock against Harry's saliva-drenched hole. It would be so easy to slide inside, and Draco had to exert every last ounce of his willpower to resist temptation. He was too close anyways. He wouldn't last more than five seconds inside the gripping heat of Harry.

Instead, he pressed Harry's arse cheeks together and thrust his cock into the tight channel they created. His cock head caught on Harry's relaxed rim on every thrust, and he knew that if he asked, Harry would let him press inside. It still blew Draco's mind, sometimes, the trust that Harry placed in him, the things he let Draco do to him. He was gorgeous and eager and so, so willing and sometimes Draco thought, in another world, if he were braver, then maybe…

His orgasm came on him suddenly, nearly bowling him over with the force of it as come spilled between Harry's cheeks. Harry's arse was a mess, the skin red and smeared with saliva and come. Draco had never seen anything hotter. 

He swirled his fingers through his release, rubbing it onto Harry's skin. "Fuck, you're filthy."

Harry looked at him over his shoulder, green eyes sparkling under sooty lashes. "Whose fault is that?" He pushed himself up.

"You seemed to like it well enough." Draco grabbed his wand, reluctantly casting a cleaning charm on the both of them. Harry smiled warmly.

"I did, yeah. You've never done that to me before." Harry collapsed back against the sofa in obvious satisfaction and summoned a large, comfortable looking blanket from the corner. He looked pointedly at the empty end of the sofa, before covering himself. Draco began to peel off his Quidditch gear, not wanting to climb onto the sofa in the rigid uniform.

"I've never done it before at all. But I wanted to, with you." Draco didn't know why he had admitted his inexperience when usually he tried so hard to come off as knowledgeable and worldly. Harry didn't seem to mind. His face creased into a small little half smile at Draco's confession. 

"That was a hell of a game," Harry said, gesturing at the growing pile of Quidditch gear on the floor.

Draco grinned. "It was, wasn't it? And I won us the match."

"You did at that. I reckon your father's got to see the merit in your playing now, what with the way the fans were chanting your name."

Draco grimaced. That would be the logical conclusion, but though he had yet to speak to his father since the match, he knew that would not be the case. "One would think," he said sullenly. "Merlin help me if I ever have children."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully, as Draco climbed under the blanket on the couch. Their bare legs brushed together, and Draco saw his resulting shiver mirrored in Harry. "Do you want children?" Harry blurted out.

Draco paused, thrown off guard by the question. That was the kind of thing you asked somebody you were serious about, wasn't it? It was a way to gauge long-term compatibility. Though Astoria was well aware that he only intended to have the one child, and he certainly had no designs on her. No matter how practical it may be. "You know, I don't think anybody has ever asked me that before."

Harry's brow furrowed. "Why not? Don't you and your friends talk about that sort of thing? The future, your plans."

Draco smiled grimly. "No, my friends and I have never been prone to long discussions about our future plans." There was no point in talking about the future when it had already been all mapped out. None of Draco's friends had been under any illusions about what their roles in the world would be. They would do whatever their parents expected of them. "I suppose that's because it doesn't really matter."

Harry's eyes softened, as if he'd heard exactly what Draco had left unsaid. His hand found Draco's and a rough thumb caressed the inside of Draco's wrist. A comforting gesture that both soothed and terrified Draco. "In the grand scheme of things probably not. But I think it probably matters a lot to you."

Draco laughed, the sound only a little bitter. "No, I meant that whether or not I want children is irrelevant. I will have to procreate, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter."

Harry opened his mouth as if to respond, but then sighed and closed his mouth. He looked at Draco again with those penetrating eyes, before continuing, "Okay, but say you didn't need to produce an heir or continue the bloodline, or any of that. Would you still plan on having kids? If you had a choice, what would you choose?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe not." Draco let out a gusty exhale of breath, heart racing at the confession. "As it is, I only want to have the one. One child, one heir. Perhaps I wouldn't even want that, if I had a choice. I…" He paused, trying to find the right words for the indecision that churned in his stomach. "I haven't had the best role models in my life, particularly when it comes to father figures." Draco had always tried not to let himself think about the reality of a child, that he would be a father someday. He didn't want to lose himself in the paralysing fear that he would fuck it all up, that he would make all the wrong choices with his child, as he had made all the wrong choices _as_ a child. He didn't want his son or daughter to feel towards him the way Draco did towards his parents, towards his father especially. He wasn't sure he could avoid it though. It felt inevitable. What if, despite his best efforts, he still turned into Lucius? What if, in thirty years, his child burned with the same simmering mixture of resentment and pain and fury and fear that he felt for his own father, unsure if he wanted to curse him or fall at his feet and beg for his love and forgiveness? Draco didn't know if he could bear that. 

"I didn't grow up with the best father figure either. I don't think that means we're doomed to make the same mistakes." Harry flashed a wry smile, and Draco's own fears were temporary overshadowed by the same fury that had overcome him when Harry had first shared the story of his childhood. Those Muggles were everything his father had taught him to loathe and fear. He knew that not all of them were like that, but he still didn't know how Harry could have been raised by those monsters and still have fought so valiantly to defend them and others like them. He was right though. Harry would not make those same mistakes with his own children. He would be a brilliant father. 

Draco wanted to believe that applied to him as well, that Harry overcoming his upbringing meant the same would hold true for Draco. He knew it was a completely different situation. Harry had resisted from the outset. He had rejected the vitriol and poisonous thoughts and beliefs held by his relatives. His innate goodness had shone through. Draco was not sure he _had_ innate goodness. He was weak. He had worshipped his father, had followed him blindly into the darkness. Even now, he could feel his seething hatred for Harry's Muggle relatives burning through him, a lifetime of prejudice whispering that Muggles were stupid and common and dangerous. He fought against the instinctual thoughts, but it frightened him that they were still there, that they were still the first thing he reached for.

Draco nodded, hoping that Harry hadn't noticed his internal struggle. He could tell that wish was futile by the concerned glint in Harry's eye. Harry always had been too damned observant for his own good. "I suppose you want a whole gaggle of children, then?" he asked, hoping to distract Harry from any probing questions.

Harry grinned, the distraction taking hold. "I don't know about a gaggle, but I definitely want kids. At least two, maybe three or even four. I've always wanted a big family. Babies laughing, children running down the stairs, dogs yapping, and moody teenagers slamming their doors. I want it all." He smiled broadly up at the ceiling, the joy of this future written so clearly across his face. Draco's heart hurt at the sight of it. He told himself it was only the certainty that he was envious of. It was only that Draco wished that he, too, could be as confident in his ability to raise children, as pleased with his lot in life. Instead, all Draco could see was Harry and a flame-haired wife surrounded by a horde of happy, ginger babies. Jealousy seethed in his gut.

"You'll make a good father," Draco finally managed. It was true. Draco thought he did a fairly good job of masking the bitterness underneath the words.

"Yeah?" Harry's face creased into a gentle, pleased smile, and he looked Draco dead in the eye, expression earnest. "I don't think you'll be as bad as you think. The fact that you're even worried about it says a lot, you know."

Draco's insides squirmed uncomfortably with the praise, with the faith that Harry was putting in him, faith that Draco didn't feel he deserved. "Yes, well, why don't we talk some more about how wonderful I was in the game today. Talking about children is ruining my afterglow."

Harry's hand squeezed Draco's, but he followed Draco's change in conversation. "The way that you dodged that bludger from the Tornado's beater _was_ a nice bit of flying."

Draco grinned, eagerly latching onto a subject that did not lead to thoughts of the terror of parenthood. He did his best to ignore lingering tightness in his chest at the idea of Harry being a father. It was not a surprise, really; Draco had always assumed that Harry wanted a big family. 

It was simply another item on the long list of reasons why Harry and he would never work. Not that Draco had ever been considering a relationship between them in the first place. That would have been ridiculous.

~~~~~

In the year plus that he and Harry had been doing...whatever it is they were doing exactly, there had been several times that one or the other of them had to cancel. Pansy would break up with her newest beau and need to go out for drinks, or the Aurors would send Harry off on some extended mission, or either of them would be in a mood and wouldn't feel up for company. The point was, it was hardly the first time Draco had received an owl from Harry, letting him know that he would not be around that night. This time, it was for some last minute Weasley dinner to celebrate the recent promotion of one of their many children—Draco could hardly be expected to keep track. So it shouldn't have surprised Draco, shouldn't have filled him with an almost unbearable disappointment. It was only one night. Draco could survive without sex for one night. Before this arrangement with Harry, he had survived rather a lot of them.

As he lay that night in his bed, tossing and turning fitfully, unable to fall asleep, Draco thought that maybe it was time for him to admit, if only to himself, that it was no longer only about sex. What started as a casual hookup several times a week, had turned into Draco spending most nights in Harry's bed. Draco had grown so used to falling asleep next to him, had grown so used to the warm, sleepy weight of Harry curled against him, that he was finding it near impossible to sleep alone in his own coldly comfortable bed.

Draco had never invited Harry over to the Manor, for obvious reasons, but lying now in his bed, having Harry with him was all he could think about. He could practically taste the warm salt of his skin, feel the solid grip of his hands, see the perfect arch of his spine. The sex was fantastic—the best that Draco had ever had—and it only seemed to get better as time went on. Now he knew that he could make Harry shudder and shake just by licking at the sensitive skin behind his right knee, and Harry had quickly discovered that nothing got Draco as desperate as a long, messy, drawn-out blow job. 

It shouldn't be like this between them, it shouldn't feel so intense and uncontrollable. Though Draco supposed he shouldn't be surprised—when had things ever been simple between them? Harry had always gotten under his skin, and Draco had no idea why he had ever thought this would be any different. Draco's entire body burned for Harry when they were apart, and his hands constantly itched to reach out and touch when they were together.

If that was all it was, though, if Draco was only dealing with an insatiable lust for Harry's body, then it might have been manageable. Unfortunately, Draco had also become unbearably attached the rest of him. When they weren't fucking on every available surface, they were talking and bickering and laughing. Draco found himself confiding in Harry, spilling his deepest secrets, somehow knowing that they would be safe with Harry. More bewildering, though, was that Harry confided in him in return. He told Draco about dying in the Forbidden Forest, about his nightmares, about the terrible guilt he felt for all the deaths in the war, all the people he had lost. Draco knew he was hearing confessions that only a few privileged people had heard, and the fact that Draco was one of them...he didn't know what to do with that sometimes.

How could Harry trust him like that? Give him his body and his secrets like Draco was somebody to be trusted. As if Draco hadn't spent years of his life making all the wrong decisions, proving that he wasn't worth the kind of faith that Harry was putting in him. He wanted to think Harry some kind of naïve, too-trusting fool. What kind of a man told his fuck buddy his darkest secrets? What kind of a man traded confidences with somebody he barely liked, with somebody he did not even care for?

That was the problem though. Harry was not a fool, he had never been too-trusting, and Draco was beginning to feel quite certain that he _did_ care for Draco, rather a lot. All the conflicted, overpowering feelings he had been having for Harry...well, Draco had been seeing them reflected right back at him in Harry's eyes. He felt it in the almost reverent way Harry would touch him late at night. He saw it in the way Harry's eyes would soften and his gaze would turn fond whenever he and Draco traded insincere barbs. He knew it by all his casually thoughtful gestures, like how Harry always had Draco's favourite brand of wine on hand, despite the fact that Harry hated the taste.

Draco started this thing between them knowing that there was an expiration date. He was always planning on getting married, and a relationship with a man was never in the cards. Not for him. The fact that the man in question was Harry Potter was only further proof that there was never going to be anything real between them. Just because there were feelings involved now, didn't mean anything had changed. 

So why did Draco feel like things had? Why did he feel like his whole world was crumbling around him? He had never been all that enthusiastic about his future, about marrying and procreating and fulfilling his familial obligations, but he had been accepting. It was what it was and there was no point getting worked up about it. Now, though, the thought of leaving Harry behind, of suppressing who he was for the good of the Malfoy name, filled him with impending dread. 

Was it really so impossible, being with Harry? Sure, neither of them had admitted anything close to deeper feelings, nor had they told anybody that they had been...enjoying each other's company. It would be difficult, dealing with the media and Harry's friends. Draco would probably be disowned, and who knew how the rest of the wizarding world would react to their Savior shacking up not only with an ex-Death Eater, but a _man_ at that. 

The thought of the repercussions had Draco's stomach in knots. He was being an idiot and an idealistic fool. Did Draco really think he could give up everything—his family, his friends, and what little progress he had made towards repairing his family name? And for what? For Harry? Did he really think that Harry would ever sacrifice so much just to be with Draco? And more importantly, did Draco really want him to?

They didn't want the same future. Harry wanted things that Draco could never give him. Children, a family, a real home. All he would get with Draco was, well, Draco. And Draco would come with a lot of nasty strings attached.

It was beyond fantasy, but it didn't stop Draco from dreaming. As much as the idea of being with Harry terrified him, he was beginning to think that the idea of being without him terrified him more.


	10. Chapter 9

It was quiet when Draco Apparated into Grimmauld Place. Too quiet. It sent a strange shiver down the back of Draco's spine, but he shook it off. How bizarre. The old house didn't normally make Draco feel out of sorts. Draco crept quietly across the room, instinctively muffling his steps to keep in line with the stillness. Harry might not even be home—he wasn't expecting Draco, afterall.

Harry had mentioned the previous week that he missed having an excuse to try out new places to eat in Muggle London, now that he was no longer dragging Draco out for secret lunches. He looked so damned adorable when he pouted, and Draco found himself suggesting that they meet up for dinner after a strategy session with his team. Draco had planned on Apparating to the pizzeria that Harry had chosen, but his meeting had finished early. He figured he might as well drop in on Harry and see if he was up for a little…exercise to build up their appetites before dinner.

The faint tinkling of glasses drifted up from the kitchen, almost terrifyingly loud in the dead quiet. Draco's heart raced, and he silently chastised himself for his jumpiness before following the noise. He was so absorbed in his surprising uneasiness as he walked down the stairs, that he almost missed the sound of voices. He froze with his foot on the bottom step. Now that the kitchen was just around the corner, he could clearly hear that Harry was talking with a female, young by the sound of her voice. Draco looked up at the mirror hanging over the informal dining table, and caught a glimpse of fiery red—Ginevra. He took a shaky breath. It was a good thing he had caught their voices when he had. Draco had no clue how he would have explained his presence in Harry's house. 

He turned to creep back up the stairs, but then his ears picked up on Ginny's softened, urgent tone as she murmured, "Actually Harry, I didn't come over here just to catch up. There's something important I wanted to talk to you about."

Draco paused. He knew that the right thing to do would be to head back up those stairs and meet up with Harry in a few hours at the restaurant as planned. But he was burning with curiosity. Harry didn't talk much about Ginny unless prompted, and while part of Draco was glad for it, it made him feel like he was facing an opponent he didn't understand. He frowned. No, not opponent. Ginny Weasley and him were not fighting over Harry like a pair of dogs with a juicy bone. Harry and her were no longer together, and Draco didn't have any claim on Harry anyway. Still, he wanted to know what it was that made her look and sound so serious. With a twinge of guilt, he cast a Disillusionment spell on himself and stayed on the lower step, watching Harry and Ginny's conversation through the mirror.

"You know you can tell me anything, Gin."

Draco's heart squeezed at the easy affection in Harry's voice as he shortened her name. For Merlin's sake, wasn't Ginny already a nickname? Was it really necessary for Harry to shorten it further? She looked across the counter at him with soft eyes and something hard lodged itself in Draco's stomach.

"I know. I wasn't sure if I should tell you at first, but...I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. About you. About us." The hard knot in Draco's stomach grew larger. "I know that we called things off after the war, and that was the right decision. I've grown up a lot these past few years. I made a name for myself in Quidditch, something that's all my own. I've made new friends, and seen old friends, I've dated and lived my life. It's been good, great, everything I needed. But…"

"But?" Harry coaxed when she failed to continue. His voice was patient and gentle, and Draco felt a surge of irrational hatred towards Harry for his kindness.

"But something's always been missing. _You've_ been missing. I'm—" She looked away for a moment before turning back towards Harry, eyes blazing. "I'm in love with you Harry, I never stopped loving you, and I'm ready for us to be together. I want to be with you." The knot grew larger still, weighing Draco down and twisting up his insides with the heft of it.

Harry looked stunned, his eyes wide open in shock, before his face creased into something hesitant and unsure. He opened his mouth and Draco held his breath, needing to hear Harry's response—his tender rejection—but no words came.

Ginny smiled, soft and a touch wistful. "I know it's a lot. You don't have to decide right now, I'm not giving you an ultimatum."

"I know, Gin. It's just...wow. That's not what I was expecting. I didn't even know you'd be considering this. I thought you were seeing that bloke...Peter?"

Ginny gave him a puzzled look. "That was over six months ago."

"Oh," Harry murmured, his voice faint. "I—" He broke off again, seemingly unsure of how to proceed.

"It's alright, really. I already know you've been seeing someone. Or maybe it's several someones."

Harry once again appeared stunned, and Draco was sure he didn't look much better. His heart was rabbit-fast, the urge to run flooding through his body. Ginny didn't know about him, only that Harry had been seeing _someone_. Surely if she knew who Harry had been seeing, she would not be looking so calm. 

"What?" Harry finally managed to choke out.

"Oh, come on," Ginny laughed. "You didn't really think you were fooling anybody, did you? You don't date anybody for ages after we call things off, and then all of sudden you're 'busy' most nights doing the ever-so-specific _stuff_. We've all been dying to know, but we figured you'd talk to us when you were ready. Of course, it's been more than a year now, and still not a word..."

Harry's expression was creased with guilt. "It's not like—only—I wanted—but…"

"I don't need to know. Truly. It's none of my business. I only mentioned it, because it's part of the reason why I waited so long to tell you this. I've been thinking about us for awhile now, but I didn't want to overstep if you were seeing somebody. I thought maybe you knew how I felt, and were trying to spare my feelings." She blushed, running her fingers through her long hair. "But I talked to Ron and Hermione, and they said you hadn't told them about who you've been seeing either. I knew that if it was serious, you'd have already told them, and….I didn't want to wait any longer. I wanted you to know how I felt." Ginny hadn't said anything that Draco didn't already know, so why did he feel faint from the pain of her statement? Draco looked down at his stomach, half-expecting to see a bloody, gaping hole where the leaden mass had surely torn free of his body. 

Harry smiled at Ginny, a fond, familiar smile that Draco had not ever seen before—at least not directed towards him. Harry walked around the counter and pulled her into a big hug, whispering something into her hair. Draco thought he might be sick. No, really, he could feel that afternoon's salad roiling around in the pit of his stomach.

"I won't wait forever," Ginny murmured, almost too low for Draco to make out, "but I'll wait for awhile. I know I've been thinking about this longer than you have, and I don't want you to jump to any particular decision before you're ready. If we do this...I'm thinking about forever. I want you to be serious, too. I know that you still love me. I think that we could build a life together."

Harry nodded slowly. "I've got a lot to think about, and I promise, I _will_ think about it. I do love you, Gin. Whatever happens, I'm always going to want you in my life."

Ginny smiled and said something in return, but Draco couldn't hear it over the ringing in his ears. He had to get out. He had to leave. Right now. 

Draco fumbled up the stairs, pulse pounding. He only stopped to breathe once he set foot in his familiar wing of the Manor. Only he wasn't breathing, not really. It felt like something was lodged in his windpipe and each shaky inhale barely brought in enough oxygen to sustain him. He closed his eyes, focusing on calming his frantic heart and rising panic. It took several minutes before he finally relaxed, his breaths steady and even as he leaned against the stone fireplace.

Draco was panicking over nothing. All that had happened was that Ginny had said she wanted Harry. That didn't mean anything had to change. Harry certainly hadn't jumped into her arms. No, he had been kind and considerate, but Draco had seen the hesitation in his eyes, the uncertainty. Draco knew that Harry felt something for him, something that Draco was pretty sure was love, or at least something close to it. And Gryffindors were all about love, weren't they? Of course, Harry loved Ginny, too. More than that, he loved the life that Ginny could give him. With her, he could have everything he'd ever wanted. He could have a family.

By the time he showed up at the pizzeria a few hours later, Draco had managed to get his emotions mostly back under control. He did his best not to think about the conversation he had overheard. He tried not to wonder if Harry would even show up for their date. Perhaps he had already made his decision.

Harry was at the table waiting for him with a wide—if somewhat strained—smile. Despite his determination to move on as if nothing had happened, Draco didn't quite manage to tamp down the frantic energy sizzling beneath his skin. He knew he was more animated than usual, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from talking and moving. Harry gave him a few puzzled glances, but otherwise seemed content to let Draco steer the evening. Draco didn't let his mind linger on what might be preoccupying Harry's mind so much that he would let an opportunity to tease Draco pass him by.

Draco was sure the food was excellent—the restaurant was much nicer than the ones Harry used to drag him to—but Draco could not remember a single bite. He knew that he'd eaten, but the subtle flavours had been completely lost on him, absorbed as he was with thoughts of Harry, interspersed with thoughts of how he _should not_ be thinking of Harry. The energy buzzed around inside of him, swirling and coalescing into something urgent and desperate. 

A flicker of light from the candle on their table caught the frame of Harry's hideous glasses. Draco was overcome with the sudden desire the remove them, the better to see the particular green of Harry's eyes. It was such a crime that Harry hid those startling, arresting eyes beneath such atrocious lenses. Absently, Draco's mind filtered through different styles, wondering what types of frames would suit him best, and if he would let Draco take him out for a new pair. The realisation that that was an act for a partner to do, had the energy clawing at his skin. 

Draco would never take Harry for a new pair of glasses. It had been a ridiculously sentimental desire, and Draco was beginning to understand that it had not been the first. There had been so many similar, fleeting thoughts that had run through Draco's head during his time with Harry. He hadn't meant to be thinking of a future with him, but it seemed that it had happened all the same. Even though he'd known, intellectually, that this would not last, his heart had firmly refused to listen. Now he was stuck, Ginny's words echoing through his head, giving him and Harry an easy way to end things that Draco didn't want.

Draco still wasn't sure what _Harry_ wanted. 

They paid their bill and took the long way back to Grimmauld Place. They walked through the streets of London, and all the while, Draco wondered what was truly in Harry's head, in his heart. Harry had not said yes to Ginny, but he hadn't said no, either. He was here, with Draco, and surely that had to count for something. His body was loose and relaxed, a soft smile pulling at his lips as he walked too closely to Draco, their fingertips brushing together. The night was crisp and cool, but Harry was a bright, hot presence beside him. 

It occurred to Draco then, that he could tell Harry how he felt, right now. He could slip his hand into Harry's strong, calloused one, and tell him that it was no longer just sex for him. He could say that he had never felt about anybody the way he was beginning to feel for Harry. He could tell him that he loved him. He could ask him to stay. 

Yes, he could do all of that, but then what? He pictured the look of embarrassed pity on Harry's face as he stammered out a stilted excuse. Draco cringed as he so perfectly imagined the painfully sincere tone of Harry's voice as he said that he liked Draco's company too, but that he could hardly be expected to _love_ him. After all, Draco was a man and an ex-Death Eater. He was a coward and a bully and though he may be good for a bit of fun, he was not the sort of person that could ever capture the heart of somebody like Harry Potter.

Worse, though, was imagining what might happen if Harry lit up at Draco's confession, dragging him into a passionate embrace as he returned Draco's sentiments. Maybe they would have a few weeks or months together where it would all be worth it, before Draco would have to see Harry's fond gaze harden with resentment. Harry thought his fame was difficult to manage now, when he was the darling of the wizarding world? It was nothing compared to the unending tide of vitriol that Harry and Draco both would have to deal with once the world found out just who he was involved with. And that was strangers. Harry hadn't even told his closest friends and family about his association with Draco, knowing that their reaction would be less than positive. Draco couldn't be sure that Harry would receive support from that arena, from the friends that meant so very much to him.

Not to mention the fact that Draco could never give Harry the family he wanted and deserved. His parents were hardly going to welcome Harry with open arms, and Draco couldn't exactly give him children. 

How long would they last before the shine of young love began to fade under the harsh light of reality? Draco would rather Harry let him down easy now than have to live through having him truly, only to lose him later. By then, the damage would have already been done to Draco himself, and there would be no way for him to retreat back to his family home to lick his wounds. He would be without family or means, without friends, and likely without a job once the League found out about his preferences. Quidditch had always been quite the boy's club, as the Harpys founder would be more than happy to attest to, and Draco was already on thin ice given the Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Lord. Harry _might_ be able to survive the scandal given his current credit in the wizarding world, but Draco knew that homosexuality would be one black mark too many on his own name.

Draco shivered and pulled his hands into his pocket. He held his tongue, and the energy burned.

When they reached Grimmauld Place, Draco was vibrating with tension and words left unsaid. He didn't even let Harry fully take off his coat before he was on him. It reminded Draco of that first time, when he had pressed Harry up against this same heavy door and sucked him off. But that would not be enough now. Draco wasn't sure if he would ever have enough.

With an eager grin, Harry Apparated them both up several floors to his bedroom—a room that Draco was now achingly familiar with. They discarded their clothing as they stumbled towards the bed, Harry's fingers quick and nimble as he undid the buttons of Draco's shirt. 

Finally, blissfully naked, Draco slid back onto the mattress, pulling Harry down on top of him. He squeezed Harry's arse, blood pounding at the moan and shiver Harry gave in response. Draco dragged his hands up the firm planes of Harry's muscled back, reveling in the hard, sharp lines of him. His mouth was urgent against Draco's, demanding he open up beneath him. Draco acquiesced. He let Harry kiss him breathless, moving his body up to meet Harry's commanding thrusts. It felt good, rocking together with Harry, letting their urgency gentle as they kissed and touched. How could either of them ever think this was only sex? Almost all of Draco's previous partners had been casual assignations, and none of them could compare the burning inferno of passion and emotion that was so evident every time he and Harry came together.

They moved with each other for a long while, arousal pooling lazily between them as their cocks slid slickly together. Harry moved to roll over, but Draco held fast. Normally he wouldn't bat an eyelash before flipping Harry over and burying himself deep inside Harry's beautiful arse. But tonight he wanted something different. He needed something different.

He bit his lip and spread his legs suggestively. Harry's eyes widened. Draco grabbed the lube and took Harry's hand, wrapping his fingers firmly around the bottle. 

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking curiously between the bottle in his hands and Draco's face. They had never done it like this before. Draco had mentioned once, when they had first started fooling around, that he had never been wild about being fucked. Harry never pressed the issue once they'd finally made it that far themselves. Harry clearly enjoyed taking it, and he was so damned chivalrous that he would never suggest switching things up if he thought it was something Draco wouldn't enjoy. Draco thought he might enjoy it now. With Harry.

"Yes. I want you to fuck me, Harry."

Harry shuddered and nodded eagerly as he settled back between Draco's thighs. Draco knew Harry had never done this before, but he'd had it done to him enough times by now, that he'd have a good idea of the basics. While Harry fiddled with the lube, Draco grabbed a pillow and arranged it under his arse. His hands shook, and he fisted them in the bedsheets to hide the nervous tremors.

It had been years since he had let somebody have him, and he hadn't done it more than a handful of times. Draco didn't dislike it precisely, but it had never seemed to feel as good for him as it did for the men he'd fucked. Mostly though, he didn't like the way it made him feel, splayed open and vulnerable, every ugly facet of his soul bared as he took another man inside of him. It was unbearably intimate, and it wasn't something he felt comfortable doing with any of the anonymous Muggles he had picked up in dingy clubs. 

Harry wasn't an anonymous Muggle, and it seemed to Draco that Harry already knew all the darkest parts of him. Slick fingers slid down the cleft of Draco's arse, and he did his best to relax as a single digit slid inside. He wanted this, he wanted it with an intensity that shocked him. He wanted every part of Harry, wanted to feel him in his very soul. He wanted some of that pure goodness to rub off on him, as if the shadowy corners inside him might disappear if only exposed to Harry's inextinguishable light.

"This okay?" Harry asked. Harry's eyes glowed as they watched his fingers move in and out of Draco's arse. The fingers twisted and stroked, hesitantly, tenderly. A dull, pleasurable sensation filled Draco up, a feeling made vibrant by the knowledge that this was Harry doing this to him, and the weight of Harry's eager eyes upon him. Harry's cock was huge and heavy between his thighs, and Draco was torn between the urge to moan with desire and laugh in giddy fear. Somehow, he had forgotten how well-hung Harry was. It didn't appear that Harry had though, given the very thorough preparation.

Draco exhaled and nodded, letting his hips open up and relax into the probing sensations. Letting his body pick up the easy rhythm of Harry's fingers.

When Harry finally leaned over Draco, biting his lip in nervous concentration as the tip of his cock kissed Draco's entrance, Draco thought he might actually lose his mind with wanting. He reached back to grab Harry's bum, startling Harry into pressing forward. His cock split Draco open. Draco's ears rang with the pain of it, his rim stretched wider than it seemed inclined to want to. 

"Are you alright, should I stop?" Harry paused, concern etched on his face. 

"Yeah, yes, I'm fine," Draco breathed out. He shifted his hips, and Harry slid a little further inside. It would get better, Draco knew it would, and this was hardly the worst pain he'd ever suffered. He would suffer far worse for Harry anyways. The thought left him breathless. Though maybe that was the feeling of Harry bottoming out, and the realisation that every solid inch of him was firmly buried inside of Draco.

Harry held his hips perfectly still, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his breathing already ragged. He was far from the relatively inexperienced man that Draco had brought to his bed over a year ago, but this was still the first time he had ever fucked anybody. A wave of fierce and possessive gladness swept through him. Draco would always be the first.

Harry seemed to gain a measure of control over himself, still keeping mostly still, but lowering his mouth to press soft, fluttering kisses across Draco's chin, before capturing his lips. The kiss was slow and achingly sweet. Their tongues danced together, lips sliding in concert. Draco focused on the pleasure of Harry's mouth, letting the burn fade to the background. He noticed Harry was shaking, faint tremors vibrating through his muscles with the strain of holding back. For Draco. 

"Are you alright?" 

Harry's eyes opened and his brows furrowed. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"There aren't any rules for sex, you know. We can both ask."

Harry gave a strained laugh. "Yeah, I'm alright. Never better. Trying not to come before I even get started is all. You?"

"Good...better. I 'd forgotten how big your cock was."

Harry raised his brows. "Should I be insulted?"

"That I said you have a big cock?"

"That you _forgot_ about it."

That startled a bark of laughter out of Draco, and the movement caused a dull flare of pain to radiate out from his arse and lower back. "Well, I'm certainly not forgetting about it anytime soon. In fact, I think I may be remembering it for days." Draco was grateful he didn't have training again until next Monday; riding on a broom was probably going to be very uncomfortable for the next couple of days. Smiling, he pressed himself back against the bed, arched his hips as much as he could, and hitched his arse back in clear invitation. 

Harry flushed, and his bright eyes went dark at the friction. "I'm not sure I'll be able to last very long. Or that I'll be any good."

"You'll be fine. Everything else we've done so far has been good, hasn't it? It's your first time. Do what feels natural." Draco opened his mouth to keep going, to say that it didn't matter if Harry didn't last long, that he could make it up to Draco the next time Harry fucked him, but nothing came out. They might not do this again. This might be the only time that Draco ever felt this particularly ruinous pleasure.

Harry didn't notice Draco's indecision. His face screwed up in concentration as he slid halfway out, before gently nudging back inside. His hips jerked and stuttered as he began to move, attempting to slip into a rhythm. He twisted to thrust harder, and Draco winced.

"Slower," he advised. Draco gripped Harry's eager hips and pulled him into a rolling, gentle pace that he met with soft swings of his hips. Harry's cock rubbed against Draco's prostate and he let out a shaky, pleasurable sigh. He might not be overly sensitive, but the pressure still sent easy waves of delight tingling down to his toes. "There we go, that's it."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, eyes open and eager. "Like this?" He moved slow and steady, gaining depth, but keeping the pace gentle and even.

"Just like that. I— _ah_ —I don't like it as hard as you do." He smiled shakily up at Harry, pleased that even now, with his prick in Draco's arse, Draco could still make him flush. "This is perfect."

It was. Draco could feel each thrust deep inside of him, as if they were piercing his heart. Every pulse reverberated throughout his body and set his nerve endings alight. Braced on his arms above him, Harry's face was just out of reach, but his blissed out expression was more than visible. He looked at Draco with naked adoration, and Draco's heart caught in his throat. Draco tried to tell himself that it was just the fucking, that Harry was only looking at him like that because his dick had never felt better. He knew it was a lie. 

His fingers dug into the flesh of Harry's arse and thigh, trying to keep himself grounded as the intensity of the moment threatened to carry him away. Every thrust of Harry's cock inside of him seemed to strip away another layer of defense, leaving him more naked than he'd ever been in his entire life. He wondered if Harry could see it in his eyes, if Harry was even looking for it. Draco felt as if every thought he'd ever had must surely be on display, even without the use of Legilimency. 

Draco wasn't sure how long it lasted, how long they fucked as if the ride itself was its own reward, with no orgasmic end destination in mind. Their bodies glistened with sweat, the slide of flesh made slicker and hotter. Draco's rim felt swollen and sore, even as he craved more, as he prayed for it to never end. It wasn't that the fucking felt so much better than he remembered on a strictly physical level, but the addition of the emotional connection and intensity, the desire to give Harry this last bit of him...it took Draco to near euphoric heights.

He came with a cry, with Harry's name on his lips, his cock erupting against the hard planes of their grinding stomachs. Harry's own eyes fluttered as Draco's channel rippled around him, and a few thrusts later he stilled, fingers curling into the sheets by Draco's head as he reached his own peak. Draco imagined he could feel it, could feel the hot gush inside of him as Harry marked him as his own. He shivered in primal satisfaction; the aches and pains he could already feel coming over him were well worth it. When everything ended, at least Draco would always have this. He would always have the memory of Harry around and inside of him. He would forever know what it felt like to truly be one with somebody, if only for an instant. 

Harry slipped out of him with the greatest care, cleaning him up and massaging the faint ache out of Draco's calves with beautiful tenderness. They were silent, as if the both of them were afraid that speaking would destroy this pretty dream and bring them back down to reality. 

Draco wondered what Harry was thinking about, as they curled up together under his faded maroon sheets. Was his mind on Ginny and her tempting offer? Was he considering a life with her even as the scent of sex still lingered in the air? Or maybe he was thinking about Draco. Thinking about why Draco had suddenly decided to offer his arse, about what Draco had really been offering, about whatever he might have seen in Draco's too-open expression while Harry fucked him. 

Whatever it was, it kept Harry awake for long hours, staring up at the ceiling as Draco curled sleeplessly on his side, pretending not to notice that Harry wasn't fast asleep. It felt stilted and cold compared to the blazing warmth of their earlier coupling. Even that though, the slow intensity, the simmering desperation and swell of feeling...it had felt like the beginning of the end. It had felt like goodbye.


	11. Chapter 10

Harry was distant. They still met up most nights for sex and food and long conversations, but more and more Draco would look up to see an owl flying towards his window with a scribbled apology and a cancellation. The sex was as good as ever, but after the night of Ginny's offer, the night that Harry fucked Draco until they were both shivering emotional wrecks, well...there was a space between them now that had never been there before. It was as if they'd both realised they had gone too far and decided to pull back. Draco hadn't understood just how much he'd been counting on Harry's Gryffindor bravery, on his tendency to go rushing in head first with no thought of the consequences. 

Harry seemed to be thinking of the consequences now. Every time he got that far off expression in his eyes when he and Draco were together, Draco couldn't help but wonder if he was pondering his future. Draco couldn't help but wonder if he was in it. 

The problem was, after that night together, after they had made love—and there was no denying that was what they had done—Draco no longer had any doubts that Harry cared for him. That he maybe even loved him. Or, he didn't have very _many_ doubts, at least. The very idea of it filled Draco with a sort of terrified elation, a kind of petrified, euphoric dread. That somebody like Harry, somebody good and brave and kind and noble could love Draco was...it was frankly unbelievable. As much as he was convinced of what he saw, what he felt, not only when they'd fucked, but every moment they had been together for the past year and a half, there was still a part of him that was unsure. 

Harry hadn't said it. Hadn't said anything. Hadn't once verbally indicated that this arrangement between them had become more than sex for him. Surely if Harry's feelings had changed, he would say so? Draco knew he hadn't exactly been subtle with his own growing emotions, and between the two of them, Harry was far and away the more courageous one. 

Draco knew he could still say it, just as he had known it that night as they'd walked home together under the stars. But every time he opened his mouth to say the words, they died in his throat. What if he was wrong? He couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk his life or his heart by being the first one to say those words, the first one to break. 

_He_ wasn't the one with another tempting offer on the table, and he would be damned if he poured his heart out only to watch Harry still choose Ginny. Draco had his pride, after all. Who was Draco trying to fool anyway? Harry was going to choose her. He was _always_ going to choose her, no matter what his feelings for Draco might be. Draco was inconvenient, and even if Harry loved him, he loved Ginny as well. With time, his feelings for Draco would fade, and he would be free to live the life of his dreams with the woman who could give him everything he wanted.

What Draco should really do, was call off his and Harry's arrangement. He should pat Harry on the cheek and say that they'd had a good run, but now Draco was ready for some variety. He should save Harry the uncertainty of having to decide his future, the guilt of having to choose, of having to break someone's heart. Draco should call things off now, while he still had a chance to have the last word. While he still had a chance to be the one leaving, instead of the one being left.

Draco couldn't. He was too selfish. He didn't want to leave Harry. He didn't want to lose a single moment of the time they had left. Draco knew he was being foolish, that he was taking the ephemeral pleasure of the now over the long-term satisfaction of his pride, but there was nothing for it. He might not be able to tell Harry that he loved him, and he might not get to keep him forever, but Draco wouldn't leave Harry's side until Harry told him that it was over. As it had been so many times before, Draco's fate was in Harry's hands.

~~~~~

It was an engagement that finally did it. Not between Draco and some poor, deluded pure-blood witch. Not between Harry and the flame-haired Ginevra. No. It was the engagement of Granger and Weasley that brought Draco's world crumbling down around him. He thought they would be quite pleased if they knew, though Draco was sure they never would. There would be no point in Harry telling them now.

Harry was buzzing with excitement the night after the engagement, clearly thrilled for his friends. Apparently Weasley had been asking Granger to marry him for ages now, and she had finally been worn down. Privately, Draco thought she'd had the right idea to begin with. He could only hope the poor girl came to her senses before she ended up bonded to the buffoon for all eternity. Draco mustered a small, tight-lipped smile at the news, but he could tell that Harry was disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm. What did he expect? It wasn't as if they were friends, and while he knew they were important to Harry, Draco had never been able to understand what it was about them that was so special. A small part of Draco could acknowledge that maybe it was jealousy over the relationship they had with Harry, the confidences they had shared since they were eleven, that made Draco so reluctant to see the good in them. But he locked that thought firmly away. It wasn't as if they were desperate to become bosom buddies, either. They loathed Draco so much that Harry had never mentioned that he had managed a civil conversation with Draco, let alone that they were fucking. Not that Draco didn't deserve their ire, but he tended to dislike people who disliked him on general principle. Draco disliked a lot of people.

After the engagement, the gulf between them seemed to widen impossibly fast. Harry was silent and irritable, his eyes never softening when they landed on Draco's form. They still had sex, but it was fast and brutal, Harry scratching at his back and demanding it harder, faster, biting Draco's lips in a poor facsimile of a kiss. It made Draco tense and prickly, his temper flaring in response, until they could hardly speak without getting into a fight. Their barbs didn't hold quite the sting of their childhood arguments, but there was a resentful undercurrent that Draco was finding harder and harder to ignore.

"What are we doing, Draco?" Harry asked, voice weary. They had just gotten into another spectacular fight after Draco had said some less than flattering things about one of the Weasleys—Draco couldn't remember which one. It had ended in sex, as it always did, this time with Harry fucking Draco's mouth until he came, then wanking Draco with rough, fast motions until he spilled over Harry's hand. They had partially dressed after and were now seated on the sofa, their bodies curled up on opposite ends, no part of them touching. 

"We're sitting. You know, it's that thing you do when your arse—"

Harry growled. "Cut it out. I'm serious. What the fuck are we doing? Because last I checked, having a fuck buddy is supposed to be fun."

Draco's stomach dropped, and he fought back a wave of nausea. "You're not having fun?" he asked mockingly. "It wasn't _fun_ when you wound your hands into my hair and pulled my mouth down onto your cock?"

Harry ran his hands through his own hair and looked at Draco. "Yeah, sure that was fun. It felt good. But maybe what I meant is...I don't think fun is enough for me anymore."

Draco's hands shook, and he shoved them under his legs, hoping that Harry hadn't seen. A month ago, that hope would have been futile, Harry's perceptive gaze would have been on him, noticing every minute expression. He almost wished now that Harry _had_ seen, if only to prove that Harry was still watching him, that he still thought Draco was the most interesting thing in the room. 

"No? What is it that you want then?" He cleared his face of emotion, doing his best to hide the tumultuous storm within him.

Harry finally looked at him and stared into his eyes for long moments, as if searching for something. He looked away, an emotion almost like disappointment flickering over his face, before his expression set in determination. "I don't think we should do this anymore."

"Do what, exactly?" Draco voice didn't even shake. His father would be proud. 

Harry waved his hand around encompassing them both. "This. All of this. It was good, great even. But I don't just want somebody to have sex with. I want a partner. I want...I want what Ron and Hermione have. I want somebody to go to their wedding with. I want somebody I can build a life with, build a family with."

Harry's words fell like daggers, landing hard and sharp into Draco's skin. This was...fuck, it was exactly what he'd expected, and somehow, he had almost thought it wouldn't actually happen. He had wanted Harry Potter to be the exception to the rules of the universe. He had wanted to be wrong.

"Ah yes, well, I can see how our arrangement might make that difficult."

"Yes—uh—exactly." Harry frowned, as if he hadn't been expecting Draco to agree. As if he thought Draco would fight him on it. Did he think that Draco had so little pride? That he would get on his knees and beg Harry to stay? _You could_ , a small, seductive voice whispered. He ignored it.

"We both knew this wouldn't last forever."

"Yeah. And, uh, I know coming out isn't in your plan."

Draco lips twisted into a humourless smile. "Quite right. I still have to carry on the family name. Kind of you to think of me."

Harry bit his lip. "So, that's it? We're done."

Draco took a deep breath to calm himself, to not let himself linger on how easily Harry had just discarded him. "Of course. This isn't a break-up. We weren't dating, it was only sex. We were having it, and now we're not. End of story."

Harry frowned again and opened his mouth as if to say something, before promptly shutting it. After several seconds, he said, "It's not as if we can't still be friends. We can—"

Draco laughed, not a little meanly, and felt viscously pleased by the flash of hurt that crossed Harry's face. "Friends? We were never friends. You couldn't even bring yourself to mention my name in front of your _real_ friends, Potter." Harry flinched at the use of his surname. Good. "What? Did you think we would keep sneaking off to get lunch together once a month? Pretend that you'd never had my cock in your arse?" 

Harry blushed and sputtered. "That's not—"

"No, it's not. How long do you think that would last before somebody found out? Before your friends or the _Prophet_ started asking questions."

Harry looked crestfallen. "But aren't you going to…" _Miss me?_

Draco looked away. "This was always going to be temporary. It was fun. Convenient. But I think it's time for us both to make a clean break of it." 

"I—yeah, if you think that's best." Harry sounded unsure, but Draco knew what he had to do to protect himself.

Draco nodded and turned towards Harry, unable to meet his eyes and focusing on a point on the wall just over Harry's right shoulder. "Yes, I do." 

He stood and summoned his clothing, dressing as quickly as he could. His entire body felt heavy, as if his veins were filled with solid iron. All he wanted to do was collapse in a heap. Maybe with a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Are you going now?" Harry's voice was high, almost panicked.

Draco's heart clenched, his fingers fumbling over his shirt buttons as he tried to slip them in the tiny holes. He needed to get out of this house. He needed to get away from Harry before the giant cracks in his composure finally split open. Draco thought he might actually die if Harry realised how much he hurt—it wouldn't change a thing. 

"Why should I stay?"

"Oh." A tiny breath of word. Sad, but not an argument. Not a plea to stay.

Harry hadn't moved from his position on the sofa. He looked somewhat shell shocked, as if he hadn't expected things to go the way they had. Draco knew he'd been thinking it over for a long while, and it was probably strange for him to finally have it done with. Harry was not an idiot, he had to have known that there were feelings on Draco's side, and he had clearly been expecting some resistance. But Draco knew the arguments probably better than Harry did. This was the only way. Knowing that did not make it hurt any less, and the pain threatened to overwhelm Draco. He swayed, before catching himself and stumbling towards the door.

"Are you okay?" Harry was up in an instant, stopping only a few steps away, concern evident in his eyes.

"I'm fine." It almost sounded like the truth. 

Draco prepared himself to Apparate, but could not resist one last look at Harry. He was naked but for a pair of tattered pants. His hair was sex-wild, and there was a bright red mark on his clavicle from where Draco had sucked a love bite while Harry had wanked him off...was it really less than an hour ago? His last time with Harry, and he hadn't even known it. He hadn't had the opportunity to savour it. He wondered how long that love bite would last. How long until the last of Draco's marks faded from Harry's skin forever?

Part of him wanted to drop everything and pull Harry toward him. He wanted to take Harry's mouth in a kiss, and then take his arse one last time, right there in his living room. Harry would let him. One last hurrah. But if Draco touched Harry again, he didn't think he would ever be able to stop. He would confess everything, he would break down and sob, plead with Harry not leave him, beg Harry to walk with Draco into their destruction.

No, it was better to leave now, to make a clean break like he had said. Harry's bright green eyes burned with some unfathomable emotion, and his hands twitched as if he had the same desires as Draco. Just like Draco, he kept his hands at his sides.

"Take care of yourself, Potter."

Harry's face crumpled a little, his voice wavering as he responded, "You too, Malfoy."

Draco grit his teeth and thought of the Manor as he felt the world dissolve around him.


	12. Epilogue

It was dark in his study, the only light coming from the fire crackling in the grate. It cast a deceptively cosy glow about the room, the shadows flickering attractively over every surface. Draco warmed himself by the fire. He sipped a glass of expensive Firewhisky and occasionally tilted the glass up to watch the play of firelight reflect off the amber liquid.

That morning's _Prophet_ was still lying on the end table, turned towards the announcements section. Normally, the page would be filled with a myriad of tiny text proclamations of weddings and births and sometimes even separations. Not today. Today, the entire page was dedicated to a single wedding announcement. The happy couple waved and smiled cheerily out at Draco before they lost themselves in each other's eyes. They really did look lovely together, so perfectly, charmingly in love. Draco felt sick.

_It's official! Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley to tie the knot next year!_

The headline mocked him as Harry swept a lock of Ginny's hair behind her ear. She blushed prettily in black and white. True love didn't need colour.

Draco had known it was coming. He had been preparing himself for months, but he had been entirely unable to protect himself from the pain that had lanced through him when he'd come upon the announcement unawares that morning. It was just the shock, was all, realising that it was finally happening, that Harry was really getting married. It was for the best, Draco knew it was, and he was sure, with time, this debilitating agony would subside. It was fine. He was fine.

The shattering of glass as his tumbler hit the fireplace, alcohol sparking bright among the embers, was immensely satisfying.

~~~~~

"This is quite the change of heart, Draco," Astoria murmured, before taking a delicate sip of tea.

"I realised you were right, of course. I have no desire to get myself disowned or kicked off the team for my...lifestyle. The only solution is to marry, and since you so generously offered…."

"An offer that you had refused, the last time I checked. Something about me not having the right bits? And you were involved with somebody..."

Draco let a flippant, practised smile steal over his face. "Oh, that was only a bit of fun. And I'm confident we'll work something out for the rest. Like I said, you were right. This way, everybody wins. You won't get married off to some ugly bore, and I won't be married off to some poor thing who's expecting me to ravish her. Most importantly, we get our parents off our backs, and we both get to marry our best friends."

She smiled softly, but her eyes lost none of their sharpness. "So this has nothing to do with the fact that Harry Potter got married yesterday?"

Draco pulled on every last ounce of his composure to keep his expression neutral, despite the fact that his heart felt like it was being strangled. Apparently his complete lack of reaction was reaction enough, and Astoria raised her eyebrows.

"I suppose Potter's...wedding maybe have influenced me somewhat. Seeing my former rival getting married and settling down reminded me of the necessity of getting my own affairs in order."

Draco gave Astoria a bland smile. He thought back to the previous night, sitting in his study staring at the ticking clock, counting down the moments since Harry had said "I Do." Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He had Apparated into the alleyway of the familiar Muggle club that he and Theo used to frequent after the war, a place he hadn't been since he'd started regularly seeing Harry. He spent hours letting the burn of alcohol, the thud of the bass, and the hot press of bodies empty his mind. Then he'd grabbed the first attractive bloke he'd seen and fucked him with brutal efficiency in the back room. It wasn't until after he came that he had fully noticed the dark, artfully messy hair and thinly muscled body beneath him. He left with a mumbled apology and an empty, hollow feeling in his chest. 

When he had woken up that morning, Draco had known that it was time to stop wallowing and get his life on track. Harry had made his choice, and Draco wasn't going to spend the rest of his life dreaming of what could've been. 

Astoria didn't look completely convinced by his answer, but she didn't push it. Instead, she reached for his hand across the table and squeezed. "I know this may not be what either of us would have chosen for ourselves, but I'm happy it's you."

Draco gave her a small smile, but he knew that it didn't reach his eyes. 

"I'm happy, too."

~~~~~

Once again, the announcement page of the _Daily Prophet_ taunted him. Draco wished he was strong enough to banish the section entirely, but he knew that he would only desperately wonder what he had missed. Besides, he felt fairly certain it couldn't get any worse than this.

Draco could admit, in the deepest pits of his most secret heart, that despite Harry's marriage, Draco's engagement, and the fact that it had been over a year and a half since they'd even seen each other...despite all that, there was still the smallest part of Draco that thought maybe Harry would come back to him. He knew it was mad, and he'd tried his very best to squash down that bit of resilient hope, but still it remained. Sure, Harry had married Ginny, but marriages dissolved every day. Draco's engagement had been announced ages ago, but they had yet to set a date, and engagements were even more easily broken than marriages. He never consciously thought about it, never let that splinter of hope get so far as fantasy, but Draco could not deny it had been there, playing in the back of his mind.

He could feel it in the way he always managed to evade giving any of his friends a straight answer about when his wedding would actually take place. It was there as he deflected pointed questions from Astoria's mother, and gentle coaxing from his own. It was present in the unanswered letter lying on his desk from Astoria, asking him if he ever planned on actually marrying her. The hope persisted, preventing him from committing to her, from tying himself down and placing another barrier between himself and the man he loved. It survived Harry and Ginny's wedding, the pictures in the _Prophet_ of their domestic bliss, and even the time that Draco had seen them in Diagon Alley, holding hands and looking every inch the newlyweds they were. The hope would not die.

Until now. 

_The Chosen One's First Child; Ginny Potter confirms, "I'm Pregnant!"_

Nothing like a baby to ruin everything. 

Draco knew, knew with absolute certainty, that there was no way that Harry would leave Ginny now. Any small flicker of hope Draco might have had about him and Harry getting their happily ever after was firmly extinguished with that announcement. That was part of the reason why they never would have worked out in the first place—Ginny could give Harry something that Draco never could.

He had thought that he'd put the past behind him when Harry had gotten married, and Draco had vowed to move on. But he realised now, that a part of him had been holding back, hoping that Harry would decide that they'd made a mistake. But Harry wasn't coming back, they hadn't made a mistake, and it was time for Draco to well and truly start living his life. 

Draco picked up his quill and wrote out a quick letter, calling his owl over and handing him the rolled up parchment. Yes, it was time for Draco to move on, and leave this Harry nonsense behind him for good.

_Astoria,_

_How do you feel about an August wedding?_

_Soon to be Yours,_

_DM_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all, folks! Thanks so much for reading and sticking around through the angst! Don't worry, the sequel has finally been written and posted for those who want some more resolution. <3

**Author's Note:**

> [Kudos ♥] and [Comments] are fabulous! I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Come find me on [tumblr](http://gracerene09.tumblr.com/)!


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